Did Little Nell Die?
by Channel D
Summary: Tim witnesses the death of a Navy officer, and that may be just the beginning of hinkyness. Who, and where, is the mysterious Little Nell? Does she even exist? An all cliffhanger adventure, in honor of Charles Dickens. Now complete.
1. The Lieutenant

**Did Little Nell Die?**

by Channel D

_Author's Note:_ The great English author, Charles Dickens, sometimes had his novels published as serials; one chapter at a time, in magazines. Oftentimes, chapters would end on cliffhangers. (Editors paid more for serials, since readers would keep coming back, desperate to find out what would happen next.) Among these novels was _The Old Curiosity Shop,_ a tragic tale of Little Nell and her grandfather, who lived in a shop of curiosities but fell into poverty and despair, one misfortune after another. Eager readers would clamor for the new installment, sometimes asking, "Is Little Nell dead?" And so in honor of Dickens' 195th (plus a few months and days) birthday, we bring you this story is of a different Little Nell, in a different time. Every chapter a cliffhanger!

- - - - -

Disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

U.S. Navy Lieutenant Dawn Peskarev drove up to the gate at the Washington Naval Station at Anacostia, already in a mood. It was stinking hot (only in the 80s but humid as hell), her car's air-conditioning had bitten the big one last week, and she had _no_ time to get the thing fixed. There was never enough time to get everything done; _never. _Window already down—_all_ her windows were down—she handed her Department of Defense ID to the clean-faced E-1 at the post, this person new to her. _It's after 8; I'm late, and of course this is a different shift…_ _Lord, they look younger every year. Has this one even started shaving yet?!_

"Good morning, Lieutenant." He studied her ID, and was about to hand it back when something seemed to click in his mind. With a frown, he turned to his computer and called up a program.

"Is there a problem, sailor?" Peskarev wanted just to get to work. There was so much she had to do today. Between her job and Nell…

"Uh, Lieutenant, uh, yes, there is. Today is October 1, ma'am."

She glared at him; a glare that demanded an explanation. _Right now._

"Uh, ma'am, new directive NAVADMIN 103/07 requires that all officers submit a full-length color photo for their official file by September 30. Your name's flagged, ma'am, as not having done that."

_Of all the idiotic…_ She scratched her wrist; it was always itching; there was something wrong there, but the doctors never took her complaints seriously. "Sailor, I have been doing the work of three people all summer. I haven't had _time_ to think about something as inconsequential as a full-length photo! Why, Nell alone—"

In the car behind hers, NCIS special agent Tim McGee was also impatient to get onto the base. He had work of his own to do today back at NCIS, and that was _after_ he visited the Anacostia station and _after_ he went to Annapolis. The trouble with being really good with computers was that it gave one a rep, and commanders thought you could be summoned with a snap of the fingers to fix their messes. Sometimes the Director gave in and sent Tim to them; sometimes she instead told them off. This was one of his unlucky days.

He _wouldn't_ lay on his horn; he had been brought up to be patient and polite, and likely the poor sailor at the post was only doing his job. Nonetheless, the urge to honk the horn was there. Almost as great as the urge to get out of his car and just _look_ impatient. He settled for leaning out for a better look.

Tim's much-loved car—a present to himself from the money from his first book—a handsome arctic silver metallic Porsche Boxter, was a joy to drive. He had the convertible's top down for the short drive across the river from the Navy Yard; it had been pleasant that way. It would continue to be, if he didn't have to sit in the sun, unmoving, for too long.

"Seaman—" Peskarev peered at his tag. "—Ingalls, look, I'll clear this up later, but right now, I really need to get onto the base. I have an appointment in five minutes—"

He was on the phone, and only acknowledged her with his eyes. Hanging up the phone, he said, "Lieutenant, the CO requests that you park here—" He indicated the small duty-parking area just inside the gate. "—and he'll be out directly to speak with you."

_Oh, and wouldn't_ I _have a few choice words for Old Horse Neck,_ Peskarev thought. She pulled in as the gate raised, and parked. It being too hot to sit in the car, she got out and leaned against it, tapping her foot, and scratching her other, itching wrist. _If Nell saw me like this—! _

Tim pulled up to the gate, relieved; his ID in hand. At this point there was now a backlog of six cars behind him waiting to get in. The E-1, however, was back on the phone; only catching Tim's eye, and gesturing _just-one-minute-please._

After a few minutes, the commanding officer strode up, and Tim couldn't help overhearing him. "Dawn! I sent you three emails on this last month, and those were in addition to the official messages that have been coming out since April!"

"Commander, I know, I know, and I'm sorry. You know how busy I've been, doing my work _and_ Colchester's _and_ Eisen's. since they left. Little Nell couldn't believe the work I've had, either!"

Her CO looked puzzled, but shrugged it off. "Whether we like it or not, Dawn, orders have to be followed. You are one of the last two holdouts on this base. Come on with me, we'll get your picture taken now, and in ten minutes, you'll be off to your duties and I'll only have Lorenzo to find and fry."

"Good morning, sir. Welcome to the Anacostia Naval Station. ID, please?"

Tim's attention was diverted from the two officers. "Oh, sorry. Here you go." At least his NCIS ID would get him on base with no questions asked. He didn't want to have to explain that he was here because that commander had done the unspeakable to his computer. Again.

Peskarev scratched her neck. "All right, Commander. I'll just—"

"Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant day." The sailor triggered the gate opener, and Tim started to pull through, noticing the sailor's admiring glance at his car. _Yes, she is a beauty,_ Tim thought, proudly.

The commander saw him, or perhaps noticed the car first, and waved. Tim waved back.

A scream made his whip his head and hit the brakes, and look. Peskarev, shaking, her mouth open. The commander moved to take her by the shoulders. _"Dawn!"_

Another scream, enough to set on fire all of one's nerves. Tim pulled his car over, and jumped out.

"_NELL!!"_ A final, anguished wail. Blood seeped out seemingly all over the lieutenant's body, and with a final shudder she fell into the commanders' arms, and he carefully set her on the ground.

Tim and the commander crouched beside her. No vital signs. _Come on come on come on, breathe!!! _They performed CPR on her; stopping only when the paramedics arrived, and they thought there was hope. But the base doctor drove up then, and, after a few minutes, delivered bad news. Such a horrid thing to happen on an otherwise gentle morning. The commander removed his hat, and Tim saw him blink back tears. He, too, felt bad for this woman he'd never met, who was probably not more than a few years older than he was. Death was never welcome, he felt.

Wanting to do something helpful, he started to straighten the body as the commander turned away and got on his phone. Tim's hands came away with not just blood, but also small clumps of things that appeared to be…transistors; wires and components, tiny, hard to make out. _What the hell...?!_

Something was obviously very hinky. Stuffing the material in his pocket, he called NCIS. This was _not_ a natural death.

- - - - -

"And she fell? Just like that?" Gibbs asked the commander. He'd already taken statements from Tim and the sailor.

"Just like that, Gibbs. But I don't see why this is an NCIS matter. There's no crime. The poor thing just—died."

"Under bizzare circumstances, Commander," said Ducky, getting to his feet. "She was young. Sudden death, like this, is always a cause for suspicion at her age. And the nature of the death—well, certainly anyone would call for an autopsy with a body looking like this." Blood had run like a river over the body, transforming the neat khaki uniform to a hellish mockery of military dress.

"Yes, I suppose so. Damn shame. She was a good officer, and a fine addition to my staff."

Tim stood by idly, having taken all the needed pictures of the scene. Something panged him, and he felt a little guilty, but he couldn't identify it. He handed the camera back to Tony, who, with Ziva, was bagging evidence. On a thought, Tim said, "Commander, who is this 'Nell' that the lieutenant spoke about? I, uh, overheard your conversation; sorry."

"No harm, no foul, McGee. I don't have any idea who Nell is. I'd never heard Dawn mention a 'Nell'."

Gibbs checked his notes. The sailor, who was now back at his post, had also mentioned that Peskarev had mentioned a 'Nell', more than once, and out of the blue. He had no idea who Nell was either; he was new at the position and had not met the lieutenant previously.

Ducky, aided by Palmer, was continuing his preliminary investigation. "She was standing, we're told, right here, against her car, when she started screaming and fell, is that right, Commander?"

"That's right, Doctor."

"And did she fall like this, or did you try to catch her?"

He was still trying to wipe the blood off his uniform. "I caught her, yes. I wish there was more I could have done..."

"And you two did CPR until the paramedics arrived. Hmmm..." He walked around the body slowly, studying it; sometimes crouching to look more closely at it. With the help of Palmer, he turned it on one side, then looked at it with a magnifying glass. "This body's been disturbed!" he said with conviction. "Something touched the blood, here, and here. Commander—"

Tim reddened. Now he knew where that dollop of guilt came from. "Uh, Ducky, that was me. I, uh, wanted to..." _What was it that I wanted to do? I'm not sure now._

Ducky marched up to him and stared him down. Though Tim was several inches taller, he felt like a boy called on the carpet by a stern teacher. _"Timothy!_ How _dare_ you disturb evidence! There is _no call_ for such behavior, and I expect a special agent to be aware of that. Why on earth did you do it?!"

Words refused to make the trip from Tim's brain to his mouth. They were probably as much afraid of Ducky as the rest of Tim was. He shook his head, his face even redder.

Then he remembered his pockets, and words at last came out, prepared to take their lashes. "Uh, you should know that I, uh, also found this on her. I forgot I had it. Until just now." He held out the strange transistors and such, which now no longer felt jelly-like, as before, but rather, more solid.

"What on earth are these?"

"I don't know. I, uh, moved her arms, where they were bare, and when I pulled my hands away, they, uh, came off her, or something. I don't know."

"You moved a body before I got here! You touched it—without gloves, I'm assuming?! You held back evidence!! Timothy, you may have compromised this investigation! With whatever these things are!! _How COULD you?!!"_

"I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Gibbs was suddenly in his face; a menacing figure._ "You got a medical degree, McGee?!"_ he roared. _"You'd better show it to me really fast, because I want to know why _you_ decided you could interfere with a possible crime scene!!"_

Totally flustered, Tim quaked and said nothing. He'd screwed up, big time, he knew; and he'd have to atone.

"You're here to fix a computer," Gibbs said, his voice dripping venom. "Go do it." He pointed in the direction of the commander, who politely had his back turned; seemingly on his phone again.

Tim didn't look back; didn't want to meet Tony's and Ziva's eyes. Deep down, he knew that everyone screwed up now and then, but that knowledge didn't make his turn any easier. He scrambled to meet the commander, who seemed equally glad to get away from there.

- - - - -

Abby was patrolling the squad room when Gibbs, Ziva and Tony returned. She wore a black t-shirt featuring a skull adorned with a party hat and blowing a party horn. "Happy Fiscal New Year!" she cried, throwing little confetti _Happy New Year_ phrases on everyone's desk. "Here's to a great federal government new year, and may the 'continuing resolution' come to an end soon, and get us a real budget, because I _so_ need new lab equipment! Well, I _do!"_ she said, to Tony's and Ziva's amused looks. She left, after giving Tim's desk an extra helping of confetti, and a lingering, wistful look.

With Gibbs gone, Ziva and Tony met eyes. "What was it that McGee had in his pocket?" Ziva asked. "Did you see it?"

"Not well. It looked like something electronic."

"And the lieutenant had it on her?"

"I guess. Hinky."

"Very hinky."

- - - - -

It was after 10 when Tim left Anacostia. That put him an hour behind schedule. _I'll have to stay at work until at least nine tonight to get everything done,_ he thought in misery. _If Gibbs doesn't throw me in the deep fat fryer first._

_It's really getting hot. _He raised the convertible's roof so he could put on the air-conditioning. Hair whipping in the breeze was a nice feeling; sticky, sweaty clothing was not.

Tim pulled out of the base parking lot, and got on the Anacostia Freeway for the 40-minute drive to Annapolis, letting the Boxter open up. Only a car this well-made gave one such a feeling of ...élan, why not. Its light, icy blue color seemed just right for this hot, early fall (really typical D.C. extended summer) day.

A car ahead slowed, and he changed to the far left lane. When the car before him showed its brake lights as one before it changed lanes, Tim touched his brakes, and found them soft. _Odd_..._they worked fine this morning_...He gently touched them again; letting up on the gas; only to have to speed up again as the semi-trailer that had been riding his tail angrily sounded its air horn at his deceleration.

_Got to pull over_..._this thing isn't safe to drive with the brakes like this_... The traffic was indifferent to his needs, however, and he wasn't able to merge right. Right was the safer place to be; traffic moved slower, and there was a nice, wide shoulder where he could pull off. Here in the far left lane, the shoulder was minimal, and the median, a roughly 50-foot-wide expanse of grass between the highway's two directions, dropped about seven feet.

He eased off the gas, hoping the trucker would pass him on the right. Somehow the trucker found a merge opening that Tim hadn't, and did so, making a rude gesture to Tim as he drove by.

_Still slowing, still slowing, come on_..._there'll be an opening_... Down from 80 mph to 75, to 70, to 65...Cars honked one after another, and swerved around him dangerously, like maddened hornets. He could almost hear their rage as they flew by.

A sign ahead, on his side. _Joy!_ It announced a left exit, 1 3/4 miles ahead. _I can get off on that!_

But then someone cut too close in front of him, and he jerked the wheel hard to the left to avoid the cretin. _No brakes!! I have no brakes at all now!!_ he realized in panic as he tried to straighten out of the turn. Cars were a cacophony of accusations now all around him.

His beautiful Boxter hit the road sign at 63 mph, snapping the post and hurling the heavy sign at his windshield as the car bounced on the meager left shoulder. Tim ducked his head as far as he could and held onto the steering wheel with an iron grip and a prayer as the windshield shattered; the sign itself fortunately bouncing off and flying away rather than joining him in the car. The Boxter plummeted down the median, rolling over and over. A fleeting, ridiculous thought whipped through Tim's mind: _Oh, do I hate Mondays!!_

And that was the last thought he had, as darkness took him.


	2. Insecurities

_Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf._

_Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf._

_Heart's beating. Beating. I'm alive. I'm alive. Calm down. I'm alive._

Tim sat on the gurney in his nook in the emergency room, gripping its sides for balance. It hurt a little less to breathe if he sat up, he'd discovered. Laid down once; didn't care for it, uh-uh. And he'd had to wait for the nurse to return and help him back up. No, he could sit now while he waited. Sit and tense up.

A purple expanse had emerged across the left side of his bare chest, he could see, as the bruises acted out. He'd no doubt that the painful left side of his face looked much the same.

_Heart's beating. Heart's beating. I'm alive. I'm alive. Calm down. I'm alive._

Every thought made his breaths come faster, increasing his moments of pain. Trying to get his mind off the physical, Tim did a mental self-assessment, but every point came up negative. _Everything I do, everything I touch, just devolves to disaster today_..._and I still haven't made it to Annapolis yet. How late am I now? The Director will kill me if I embarrass her_..._I'll have to rent a car to get up there now_..._How could I have let this all happen?!_

"Hey."

Tim turned his head at the soft greeting, and then turned away again, head lowered. Gibbs._ No doubt here to yell at me for not getting to Annapolis. Or yell some more about the incident at Anacostia. Or am I being paranoid?_

Gibbs silently followed the movements of Tim's face with his own eyes, studying him. Tim then noticed, from the corners of his eyes, how white his boss looked.

"The police called," Gibbs offered, a catch in his voice. "Said your car rolled over four times. And I remembered seeing that your car, in the lot at Anacostia, had the top down..."

_Ow. Yes, I would be a _lot_ worse off if I'll rolled with the top down_... "I put it up before I left there, so I could run the air-conditioning."

Gibbs nodded, and put a hand on his shoulder, looking around the small room, rather than at him. "Haven't you been seen by a doctor yet?" he said, suddenly antsy.

"Oh, yeah; they did the triage thing. I'm pretty low on the list. Just waiting on the X-rays to come back."

"Ribs?"

"So we think." He was quiet, wondering why Gibbs wasn't yelling at him; too spooked to give Gibbs any excuse to start.

The doctor returned then, smiles and empathy, and tacked up the X-ray prints. "Relatively good news, Agent McGee. Breaks in three middle ribs on the left side, but just single breaks, so there's no flail chest to worry about. You'll be in a world of hurt for awhile, but other than that, your ribs aren't a serious matter. We'll bandage your chest, and you'll be good to go. Be sure to cough now and then; this is to prevent an infection from taking up residence in your respiratory system. I'll write you a prescription for acetominophen with hydrocodone; take one every four to six hours and don't drive until you see how it affects you. You may have dizziness, drowsiness, stomach pain, lightheadedness..." He went on, and Tim only half-listened as the doctor started wrapping an elastic bandage around his chest. _No driving! How am I going to get to Annapolis? By some combination of train and bus, maybe?_

"McGee!!"

Tim turned his head toward Gibbs. _Now what?_

"You're spacing out. Come on, I'll drive you home."

_And so I leave an assignment incomplete_. _Great; just great_...Tim put his shirt back on, feeling a trifle better now that the painkillers were starting to work.

"So tell me what happened," Gibbs said, starting his car but not pulling out yet.

"The brakes went. I was in the far left lane. I tried to merge to the right, to pull off the road, but there was too much traffic. Eventually, I lost control—" He swallowed. _They gave us a defensive driving techniques course at FLETC. Is he going to get on me about that?_ "—and hit a road sign, and went into the median, and...that's all I remember."

"You didn't notice trouble earlier? Your car's too new to be having brake problems."

"No, it was okay when I left Anacostia. It wasn't until I was on the highway that they started feeling soft."

Gibbs' phone rang. "Gibbs...But I was just about to drive McGee home. Yeah, he'll be okay; just a few busted ribs...But I—" He looked at Tim but didn't voice his thoughts. "—okay. I'll be there directly." He turned to Tim. "Got a meeting at MTAC that I have to get to. I'm going to have to take you there, and DiNozzo or someone can drive you home. Sorry."

"No problem..." _At last something that's not my fault_..._Why am I feeling so insecure? I haven't felt this way in a long time_...

- - - - -

Tim got off the elevator at the squad room level, leaving Gibbs to continue up a floor. Tony did a double-take and half rose on seeing his bruised face.

"Holy...You look like you went two rounds with Superman, and...came out badly, Probie. What happened?!"

Tim sighed. At least things were normal around here. "Tony, if I'd fought with Superman, my face would be powder, not just bruised."

"Well, maybe he pulled his punches. He _is _a nice guy, after all."

"Superman's an imaginary character," Ziva scolded, then added, after a beat, "Wonder Woman told me so."

Tim laughed, though it hurt to do so, and he clutched his chest. _Laugh_..._breathe_..._I guess I can do only one of those. Dang._

"What happened to you, McGee?" Ziva asked, now concerned. "I know you were going to Anacostia and Annapolis..."

"Never got to Annapolis. I rolled my car."

"No! Not that beautiful car!" Tony cried, over McGee's grimace for his priorities.

"Yes. Didn't Gibbs tell you?"

"He was gone when we came back from break. You hurt?"

"Broke a couple of ribs."

"Then why are you _here?_ Go home! Take a week off! Take two!"

"If only you could approve my sick leave request! Has Ducky come up with anything on the dead lieutenant yet?" _As if I really want to meet up with Ducky_...

- - - - -

"Ah, Lieutenant, what happened to you to make you bleed so much, so suddenly, as the witnesses say you did?" Ducky said to Peskarev's corpse, which was on the autopsy table. "A sudden, unexpected death is atypical for someone your age. A grave infectious disease, perhaps? A sub-intimal hemorrhage? No signs of...Hmmmph. I do wish that young fool Timothy hadn't handled you; it's making you all the more mysterious, dear lady... Hold that light over here, would you please, Mister Palmer?" Ducky said, slicing into tissue, but finding it hard to slice.

"An obstruction, Doctor?"

"I'm not sure. Either the implement is dull, or there's something odd here..." With gloved hands, he felt the tissue. It didn't feel right, either...He snipped a piece off.

"Mister Palmer, take this to Abby; see if she can find anything peculiar in here. Perhaps trace chemicals have altered the tissue."

- - - - -

Abby danced to her blaring music, amusing herself by running a program she'd created that generated Tim's face in a montage of pictures, goofily responding to the moods of the music: frowning at some spots, grinning at others, sometimes just looking perplexed. _Of course, I can never show this to him; pity_... "You _should_ like this piece, It's classic!" she said out loud to the montage. "Don't make that face..."

"Uh, what face, Abby?"

She jumped, and sprang to close the application. "Jimmy! Don't sneak up on someone like that!"

"Uh, sorry. Ducky asked me to bring you these samples for analysis. The tissue part was found to be abnormally dense, or something. And then there are these..."

"What are they?" She looked at the little gray-purple blobs in the small container.

"We're hoping you can tell us. Tissue of some sort, I guess. They, uh, came off the lieutenant's body, according to McGee."

"Tim was there?" Abby hadn't been filled in on the Anacostia story; all she knew was that he'd be spending the morning fixing officers' computers somewhere. It had only dimly registered with her that Autopsy had received a lieutenant's body this morning, a case involving the rest of the team.

"Yes, he witnessed the death. Tried CPR, he and the commander, but nothing could be done for her."

_Poor Tim_; _he must be broken up about that, _she thought, but said, "Okay. I'll see if I can shake loose some answers." When Palmer left, she turned the montage back on and got to work.

- - - - -

Gibbs returned to the squad room after a too-long meeting to find Tony and Ziva crowding Tim as he tapped at his computer. "Why are you still here?" Gibbs snapped at Tim.

Again that peculiar, overly self-critical feeling came over Tim, and he didn't meet Gibbs' eyes. "Uh, got caught up in this, boss...This is the lieutenant's file." The image of the smiling, brown-haired woman's ID came up on his screen. "I'd overheard Commander Alvarez talking to her, while I was waiting to be let through the gate. She was one of two people who hadn't complied with that new Naval reg requiring that all officers have a full-length, color picture in their file before today."

"So?"

"The thing is, she _did_ have a photo submitted. Did it within days of when the directive came out in April. And then she went in and deleted it, on June 12. Yet supposedly, from the conversation I overheard, she was convinced that she had never had a photo done."

Gibbs shrugged, but found himself interested, none the less. "Can you recover the photo?"

"Sure." It popped up, and didn't look much different from the ID photo.

"Well, she may have had her own reason. But it's irrelevant; we don't have a case yet. DiNozzo, drive McGee home. McGee, rest up and take care of yourself. Call me Thursday, let me know how you are then, and we'll discuss your return to work."

Tim did one last check on the lieutenant's file before shutting the computer down. _Search:Nell_. It came up with no results. "Okay; I'm ready to go."

"Good, Probie, because I'm not a taxi service." Tony grinned to chase away some of the sting from the barb. "How're you fixed for food? Do we need to stop at a grocery store along the way?"

- - - - -

"Commander Alvarez, please."

"May I ask who is calling?"

"I'm calling about Lieutenant Peskarev. I'm sure the commander will want to speak with me."

The ensign looked around worriedly. Everyone on the base knew that Lt. Peskarev, the harried, fun-loving taskmaster had died this morning. Right on base. Some said it was gruesome, but who could trust rumors?...Ah, there he was. "Commander, someone calling for you. About Lieutenant Peskarev."

"Must be the family," Alvarez sighed. "Put it through to my office, please, Robby."

He picked up the phone there, composing himself for his tragic duty. "Alvarez speaking,"

"Commander, please be vigilant when you leave the base today. You've already made one mistake, the one this morning. They know about this. The other gentleman involved almost didn't survive the attempt on his life. I hope it isn't too late for you. I need you to find Lieutenant Peskarev's killers." A pause. "Or you might not like what I do to those who impede the investigation."

"Who _is_ this?!"

A quiet laugh. "Some call me 'Nell'." The connection broke.

Alvarez grabbed his hat. "I'm going to NCIS," he told the ensign-secretary. "Should be back in an hour or so."

He pulled his car out of the lot. _Odd; I don't remember having trouble with the brakes this morning_...


	3. We Have a Case

The Director's bolted upward; her coffee mug coming perilously close to being swept off her desk and onto the carpet as did so. "Your brakes were_ cut?_ Are you _sure,_ Enrique?"

"That's what the garage told me, Jen," Commander Alvarez said. "They called the police in—of course, the matter will be referred to NCIS through channels. I'd pulled off the road as soon as I noticed the problem, and phoned for a tow truck. And here's irony: this is 'Drive Safely Work Week' Today's subject is 'Being Inattentive'."

"It's a good thing you pulled off then!"

Alvarez told her about the mysterious phone call that had prompted his visit to NCIS. "I don't know who the other person she referred to was…"

Jenny blinked, then slowly sat back down, her eyes widening. _"McGee…"_

"Yes, that would fit. He was—Jen, he's all right, isn't he?"

She was already on the phone. "Jethro, get up here. _Immediately."_

A few minutes later, Alvarez was filling Gibbs in. Alvarez rubbed his hat in his hands, and said, "Where's McGee's car now?"

"I don't know, but I'll find out," Gibbs said, grimacing. "And that's all this 'Nell' person said to you?"

"That was it. Quite a little mystery we have."

"More than a mystery, if someone was out to kill you and McGee. That's a _crime."_

"Well, of course. But how does poor Dawn Peskarev fit into all of this?"

- - - - -

Shortly afterwards, at his own desk, Gibbs hung up his phone in frustration and addressed Ziva and Tony. "The police won't have a report on McGee's car until tomorrow morning. The body shop it's at is being balky. The police think it's because they picked up one of the shop workers on an outstanding warrant a few months ago."

"But we have a case?" asked Ziva.

"Yes, we have a case, whether McGee's brakes were cut or not. Alvarez' were, and with that implied threat by this 'Nell' person…I want a full background check on Peskarev. I want to know everything about her, down to where she had breakfast this morning. Move, people; move!"

- - - - -

"Jethro, you are every bit aware as I am that just because an outsider _claims_ murder, that doesn't make it so." Ducky frowned at his surgical implement, set it down, and frowned at Gibbs for asking such a question.

"True. But we can't overlook an attempt at murdering a Naval commander. There might be a connection. Any progress on Peskarev?"

"I sent some tissue samples to Abigail a little while ago. They were ...odd. You can see if she's turned up anything."

- - - - -

"A _Caf-Pow!_ Thank you, Gibbs, my bringer of exlixer! Life-sustaining liquid! Nectar to this goddess! I was starting to run dry!" She hugged him.

"Got anything on Ducky's tissue samples?"

She released him from the hug. "Not entirely, but we're making some progress. This is really interesting stuff, Gibbs! Look!" she said, steering him toward a screen. "These are carbon nanotubes. Well, we don't have any right _here_, this is an illo I got off the 'net. They're strong but very flexible, like soft tissue, such as you find in a stomach lining."

"Is that what's inside Peskarev?"

"Oh, no. Even though what you're seeing here is _millions_ of nanotubes forming a wall just two millimeters thick, they're still not appropriate for replacing human tissue as a synthetic biomaterial. But it's believed that combining these with other polymers may be a replacement for some human tissues down the road."

He gave her a look, so she hastened to add, "and that's all very well and good, but how's that relate to our case, Abby? Well, I'll tell you. Ducky found the lieutenant's tissue to be really thick. Really, _really_ thick. Thick like a...tough old piece of meat. Ewww, not a nice comparison, I guess..."

"Abby!"

"Sorry. There_ is_ a point, and I _am_ getting to it. I haven't found the mysterious substance yet, but my money is on something _like_ this, a carbon-based polymer, that's been engineered to form a tougher wall."

"Why?"

"Why did they—whoever _they_ are—do it? Answer that question, and the magic will be revealed.. Get me more data to work on, Gibbs."

"Got anything else?"

"Are you including weird stuff I haven't gotten to yet? Jimmy also brought over this container of other strange tissue. The stuff that came off the lieutenant's body after death. Think about that. It came _off her body._"Being Abby, she managed to look both dismayed and delighted.

"The stuff that McGee held back."

"Held back? That doesn't sound like Tim...Anyway, that'll be next on my list. I should have an answer the next time you suddenly appear."

"I don't 'suddenly appear'."

"Well, okay; you make _strategic moves, _Gibbs. Just like you suddenly…"

She turned back around to him; found he was gone. "…disappear."

- - - - -

Alone in his small apartment, after spending a half hour on the phone with his car insurance company, Tim tried sleeping, but found he was too wound up to fall asleep. _They're going to rip me to shreds when I get back to work, Thursday or whenever. How did I let things go so wrong?!_

Sighing, he logged onto his computer and into his NCIS account. _Wonder if they've compiled anything yet on the lieutenant…?_ To his surprise, they had. The team's daily activity log listed a peculiar phone call Commander Alvarez had received from someone who would only identify herself as 'Nell'. The report was very sketchy, and alluded to some car trouble the commander had had without going into specifics. Tim didn't have to pull down the report sig to know that this was Gibbs'; his style was all over it. Nothing yet up from either Ziva or Tony; they must be still... investigating.

In frustration, he logged off and tried to nap once again.

- - - - -

Gibbs, Tony and Ziva were going at the task at full throttle. "Yes, Peskarev was born in Russia," Ziva reported from her search. "Family was able to emigrate to Basel in 1980 when she was 7 years old; then to the U.S. in 1986. Older brother served in Operation Desert Storm; died there. Family became U.S. citizens in 1992; 'Americanized' their first names. Father was a respected university professor. Mother worked with an emigree program. Both died in a car crash in 2003, leaving her with no close kin here. There's an aunt and an uncle in Montreal. Never any reason to question any of the family's loyalty to the U.S."

"She was considered an outstanding officer on the Naval base," Tony chimed in. "Had one tour of duty in the Persian Gulf; otherwise has been stateside. The only chink in her career came about in late May when two of her fellow lieutenants, Brad Colchester and Jerome Eisen, were reassigned and she was stuck doing their work as well as her own. No replacement for the two men was coming soon. She got very frustrated, some of the people on the base say. Prior to Colchester's and Eisen's departure, she was well-liked, fun, outgoing."

"Any mention of 'Nell'?" Gibbs saw them shake their heads, and wished Tim was there to set his Web hounds on 'Nell's trail.

"A couple people on base, uh, four people, heard her mention a 'Nell' over the summer. It would come up as peculiarly random commentary, though,' said Tony. "No one knew who she meant. Fleeting, random comments, like, 'I don't know what Nell would say about that,'. Sometimes called '_Little_ Nell'. No one questioned her about it; they could all see that she was under a lot of stress."

"How about 'Nell's in her background?"

"Ah...that was going to be my next action," Tony said, accepting glumly that it was going to be late before he got off work.

Ziva saw her cue. "I'll check with her landlord, her neighbors, and so on."

- - - - -

Ducky looked up when Gibbs came in. "Ah, good timing, Jethro. I've received poor Lieutenant Peskarev's medical files and had just gone over them."

"Sum them up?"

"That's a trifle hard to do; there is so much speculation in them, you see. Part of the problem is that our lieutenant was so overworked that she often missed appointments. Missed four this summer alone."

"What was she being treated for?"

"Now that is the interesting part. She had been the picture of health for years—last problem had been appendicitis, in 2000. Are you familiar with Morgellon's syndrome, Jethro?"

"Enlighten me."

"Yes, then. It's only been named in the last few years. It relates to a perceived disorder of the skin. Patients report that their skin is itching or crawling, and to them there are varied things causing it: things crawling under the skin, such as parasites; fibers on their skin or just below the surface, and so on. Naturally, physicians find nothing out of the ordinary. It's written off as a mental disorder of unknown etiology, usually, though not all physicians are in agreement on this. Some call it 'delusional parasitosis'."

"After the parasites believed to be under the skin?"

"Exactly. The lieutenant complained to her physician of some concentration problems, occasional fibromyalgia, and itching, as if something under her skin was trying to get out. She said she scratched a lot. A broad range of allergy tests was done; came up with nothing. Didn't even suffer from hay fever, lucky thing. Medicine was going to be considered in the fall, after more tests were done. If she kept her appointments."

Gibbs glanced at the body on the table. "So do you think you're going to find parasites here?"

"Jethro, I have ceased being amazed at anything I find here anymore."

- - - - -

After getting a few hours of downtime, Tim logged back onto NCIS from his home computer, and read the reports Ziva and Tony had made. No direct hits on Nell, or Little Nell yet, but the name seemed to lurk in the shadows with every contact they made. No Autopsy report yet...waiting on report from the Lab, Ducky's terse note said. The Lab. _Hi, Abby,_ Tim mouthed, wishing he was there to see her, to enjoy watching her work, to catch her scent, to just take in the swirl of dark hair and white lab coat...

He scratched his wrists, his knees, his neck; wondering why he felt so itchy...or was it crawly...?


	4. The Beginning of the Nells

Tim's dreams were wild that night. _He was running, running, running, but Gibbs was always just a half-dozen steps behind him. Turn a corner, another, lose him. Suddenly, he's there again. Blackness of night. Turn a corner into sunlight. City. Washington. Pavement. Alley. Turn a corner, there stands Ducky, looking stern. Run. Run. Turn a corner, night again. Run. Run. Turn a corner. The Director stands there, her face a torrent of anger. She starts running alongside. "You never got to Annapolis!" she snaps. "They called me and asked why you hadn't shown up! How could you embarrass me like that?!" She disappears, and Gibbs is following him again. Tim cries out in frustration, and can only keep running, running, while trying to shake loose whatever invisible creatures are chomping at his skin..._

At four-thirty he snapped awake, shaking and drenched in sweat. _I can't go back to sleep; I'll go insane. I need to be concentrating on something_... He got online and read the last of the reports the team had filed last night.

_I can help. I can do something to find this 'Nell'._ Starting a search, he closed it down, jittery, after just a few minutes. He could feel Gibbs', Ducky's, and the Director's eyes all on him from the shadowy corners of the room, silent and accusatory.

_Why am I so spooked about this?!_ He fixed breakfast, but could feel the presence of the accusers still. _I can't stay here like this. I need other people around me, to shield me_...Within 15 minutes he was out the door, into the pre-dawn darkness, and on the way to the Silver Spring Metro station to catch the first train of the day.

- - - - -

It was shortly before six when he entered the NCIS squad room, early enough that only a third of the lights were on; the ones that were always on. Tim switched on his desk lamp and got to work.

Ziva and Tony appeared shortly before seven._ "Probie!_ You haven't fully grasped the concept of 'when-offered-sick-leave,-take-it', have you?"

"It's even worse than that," Ziva pointed out. "Injured while on duty is administrative leave, not sick leave. It's like holiday time. You don't like taking holidays, McGee?"

Tim ignored their gibes; he was just glad that he had no fears around these two. "Come look at this," he said, beckoning. "I've been looking for Nells in the lieutenant's background."

"And did you find any?"

"Seven, so far."

"What?!"

"Here's the list. Nell Bullfinch, her high school English teacher. Nell Ford, next-door neighbor in Palo Alto, California, where the Peskarev family moved to from Switzerland. Nellie Johnson, member of her drama club in junior high school. Nell Drozen, a member of her college sorority. Nellie Garcia, a girl she babysat for while in high school. Nallie, note the 'A', Obodovsky, her mother's associate in the émigré program—"

"Probie, how did you know about the émigré program?! Did you log onto NCIS from home again? Oh, _man..."_

Tim ignored the interruption. "—and finally, Nell Veneroso, who was a classmate of hers at OCS Newport. Unless you also count fictional characters like Nellie Olsen of _Little House on the Prairie_, her favorite TV show as a child. But you know what's weird?"

"That's a lot of 'Nells' for one person to know," said Tony. "I don't think I've _ever_ known anyone by that name. And the lieutenant knew _seven_ of them?!"

"Exactly," said Tim. "I checked it for popularity against the Social Security Administration's baby name index. 'Nell' hasn't been in the top 1000 baby names given in the U.S. since _1956!_ That year it was ranked 987. I can run checks on these people, and I'm still searching for other 'Nell's. I was about to—"

"_McGee!"_

They all jumped. Gibbs looked beyond exasperated. "Did I miss a few days? Is it Thursday already?"

Tim shuddered. "Uh, no, boss—"

"Then you're not supposed to be here, are you?!"

"But, boss, I can—" Tim barely got the words out; his fear was so great, much as he also hated himself for his terror. He hung his head.

"Tell you what, McGee," Gibbs said, sounding casual without quite sounding casual. "You go see Ducky, and get him to say that you're fit to work, then you can stay. Otherwise, you go home." Gibbs was glad he knew a few management tricks, though he'd never call them that. Tim would go straight to Ducky, he knew; would argue with him, then would pack up and go home. It was a face-saving measure for both Gibbs and Tim.

But Tim looked up at him, his face haggard. "Okay; I'll leave." He dropped his spent coffee cup in the trash basket and left the building.

- - - - -

Abby concluded that a polymer was indeed the mystery substance in the tissue. Why that should be, she couldn't say. That might have to wait until the team had a suspect.

She turned her attention to the material in the little case, the stuff that was said to have come off the lieutenant's body. _Well, clearly this is circuitry, so Jimmy must be pulling my leg_... But it didn't _slice_ like electronics. Cutting a section, she looked at it under the microscope. _Now that looks like a comparator, at least I think that's what this is...I think this is a PLL...and it connects over here. Definitely a miniature mixed-signal circuit...and here's another one...How could all this be _on_ a person?_

_Unless..._

She did more tests, and this time she actually froze in place for a moment when the results came in. She turned around once, and was surprised when Gibbs didn't make his magical appearance. "Gibbs!" she called into thevideo phone as a last resort. "I need you down here _now!_ And you'd better bring me a _Caf-Pow!_ No, wait, come down here faster. Skip the _Caf-Pow!_ Just come." _I can't believe I just said that!_

He appeared within five minutes, fresh _Caf-Pow!_ in hand. "What do you have, Abbs?"

"Nothing much yet on the polymer, but look at this! Mother of all Hinkyness, Gibbs; this is miniature electronic circuitry—organic circuitry, that must have seeped out of her body; swept out when the lesions opened up!"

"It was _inside_ of her? Any idea what it was doing?"

"Not without more tests. It must have been programmed to do something. Besides multiply itself, that is. Different states of development are visible; here, look are the newly-born digital-to-analog converters. Aren't they cute?"

Gibbs frowned, trying to get his mind around it. "This was living? Organic? Is it still living?"

"Oh, no; if it lived inside of her, it was probably anaerobic, or close to it. It probably didn't survive in the open air for too long. Thank heavens Tim was wearing gloves, or else it could have seeped into his skin...Gibbs? Tim _was_ wearing gloves, wasn't he?" She grabbed him by the shirt. _"Tell me he was wearing gloves!"_

He shrugged her off, and made it to the elevator in record time.

- - - - -

"Ziva, go get McGee. Bring him back here. _Move!"_

"But you just sent him away; not 20 minutes ago, Gibbs..." She saw his glare and shrugged, grabbing her car keys. "I'll phone him and pick him up at Silver Spring, if not sooner. I don't suppose you'd tell me what all this is about?"

"Later. _Go!"_

- - - - -

Tony entered the squad room, escorting a willowy blonde woman, about 35 years of age, wearing a conservative suit and an NCIS visitor's badge.

She looked around, smiling. "How many people work here, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Oh, about half of them," he said with his trademarked grin, enjoying her laugh at the DiNozzo charm. "Boss, this is Ms. Nell Champion. She's here about Lieutenant Peskarev."

"You must be Agent Gibbs," she said, extending her hand. "I'm here to claim the body."

He was taken aback by her effrontery. "Have a seat, Ms. Champion."

While Tony gave him a knowing grin over the top of his monitor, Gibbs asked Champion a series of questions about her relationship to Peskarev and her status as next of kin. Tony typed quietly. Seeing Tony's slight shake of the head as one question after the other fell apart, Gibbs rose.

"If you really are who you say you are, I'd expect you to have your facts in better order," he said. _At least she has the grace to look a tad embarrassed. _

"But I _am_ Nell Champion," the woman then insisted. "Here is my card; please give me a call tomorrow when you are ready to release the body." She paused, then added. "It is of utmost importance that you do. It's...not something that you want hanging around here, I don't think."

"And why is that, Ms. Champion?" Gibbs' look was cool.

"It's...not normal."

"Maybe that's for us to judge. Right now we're awaiting the autopsy results. I don't know when the body will be released."

Tony escorted Champion back out, and Gibbs then got on the phone. "Enrique, we just had a visit from Nell...or someone who said she was Nell..."

"Well, she's obviously an imposter, Gibbs, because Nell's in my office right now." _It's so nice to have her here. I've been seeing her around base all day. _He looked over at the smiling, dark-haired woman sitting in one of the visitor chairs. She wore a dress of light, gauzy material. The sunlight played on it, through it, through her transparent body, and settling at last on the more solid chair...

- - - - -

Tim swallowed on seeing Gibbs. _Whatever Gibbs wants me for, it can't be pleasant. He's not one to have a change of heart very fast. I've been waiting and waiting for him to really chew me out, why won't he?_

Gibbs sat and clasped his own hands, trying to remember the scene from yesterday morning. "McGee—when you touched Lieutenant Peskarev, giving her CPR, were you wearing gloves?"

"Uh, no, boss. There wasn't time..."

Nodding, Gibbs went to the next question. "And a little later, when you then handled her body?"

_Here it comes, though he doesn't _look_ mad_... "No, boss. I—I didn't know it was a crime scene. Rule #2," he added, almost in a whisper.

Sighing, Gibbs rose, and put a hand across Tim's shoulders. "You may have been infected by something. Come on, let's go see Ducky."

"_Ducky?!"_ Tim wrenched away, and ran from the squad room. Ran and ran, out the building, ignoring the shouts that fell in his wake. Ran and hid in the shadows by the Navy Yard gate. There he sat and sobbed, ignoring the curious Marine at the post; the Marine who'd admitted him every work day for the last seven months.

Soon Tony came and sat down beside him. "No one's mad at you, Probie, if that's what you're thinking. No one's out to hurt you. Hey, how'd you manage to run so far with broken ribs? You must be hurting, in more ways than one."

"Ducky—"

"—can't figure out why you're avoiding him, but wants to help you. You've got to come back to NCIS, Probie. You may have been infected with...something. That may be what's been making you act so squirrely. You need to get treatment."

"What is it?" said Tim, scratching his wrist. "And what makes you think I'm sick?"

Tony studied him. "Because you've been acting peculiar, even for you, McGee. All afraid of Ducky and Gibbs—"

"And the Director."

"Really? Well, anyway, there's something hinky about that tissue you touched...and you may have caught—"

"Whatever killed the lieutenant," Tim sighed.

"Worse than that," Tony said, getting to his feet and pulling Tim up. "We started checking the Nells you named this morning. All of them are dead."

"_Dead?!"_

"Yes, within the last year. And another Nell appeared here a little while ago, asking to claim the body. Abby can fill you in, on the tech end, although you'd probably enjoy seeing it yourself. It's all woo-woo to me. It all appears to be some cracked scientific experiment. And if the people behind this know that you're infected..."

"They may want_ me..."_


	5. Morgellon's Syndrome

"My brakes were cut." Tim repeated Gibbs' statement in disbelief. He sat at his desk in the squad room; Gibbs stood before him. "Well, of course, that would explain a lot." He dared a look at Gibbs; found his face hard but otherwise unreadable. _It must be from one of the things I did_... "Sorry, boss," he said, his voice a whisper.

"Sorry for what?!" Gibbs said, irritated for the veering off the subject. "And whatever it is, don't apologize, McGee!"

"Yes, boss; I mean, no, boss," said Tim, now confused by his own syntax. _Please, someone get me out of this…_

"Your car's brakes were cut; so were Alvarez'—"

"Is he okay?!" The middle-aged man might be a Luddite when it came to computers, but Tim found him personally quite likeable.

"He's fine. He was able to pull off the road before he had an accident."

_Unlike me_..._Now I can't even remember what they taught us about dangerous driving at FLETC_...

"McGee! Why must you look terrified at everything I say? I'm not your enemy!"

For an answer, Tim burst into tears, and put his head down on his desk. He couldn't remember when the world had looked this bleak.

He was aware that Gibbs was saying something softly to Tony and Ziva—at least, he assumed it was to them—but he didn't try to listen in. _I've made enough of a mess of things as it is without having them get mad at me for eavesdropping_..._I can't afford to alienate Ziva and Tony; next to Abby, they're the only friends I have left_...

"Jethro, we have a crisis at Anacostia."

The Director's voice cut through Tim's sobs, and he was able to mostly shut them off and look up. He saw her glance in his direction, and saw Gibbs shake his head.

"Alvarez has had...some kind of a breakdown. He's seeing things, and having audio hallucinations as well. Supposedly he's on his third, different, Nell sighting of the day."

"We've already established that Peskarev knew several different people named 'Nell'..." said Gibbs, frowning.

"I know. But the ones that Alvarez sees _can't be seen by anyone else._ And he hears her speaking to him. He's in the base doctor's office, but since your team is already embroiled in this case, you'd better go see him, and take Ducky with you. If this is indeed Morgellon's syndrome..."

"Yeah," Gibbs' all-purpose, all-encompassing reply. He grabbed his swoop cap. "Let's roll, people..._not you,_ McGee!"

"But, boss, I know Commander Alvarez pretty well," Tim said quietly. "He'll trust me. If, if he's having problems, I think I can understand them..."

"Forget it! It's bad enough that you have to be here after your accident. You're _not_ going out into the field!"

Tim sank in his chair, his face the picture of misery. Gibbs swore quietly, wondering if he dared leave Tim alone in the squad room in this state. He couldn't drop him in the lab; Abby had real work to do. The only other choice...

The Director gave him a look, forming the words _Oh, no_ with her lips. But Gibbs didn't break his stare. After a moment, the Director stifled a sigh, and said, "McGee, I need you upstairs." _Oh, the things this job makes me do_...

- - - - -

Tim felt the Director was a little less terrifying than Gibbs or Ducky, primarily because she hadn't scolded him. Yet. He'd only concluded that she would, at some point. Following her into her office, where he'd only ever come alone to be upbraided, he felt weak and his breaths came sharply, making his chest hurt more.

"Cynthia, please clear my schedule for the next hour or two," Jenny said. Without waiting for a response, she lead Tim to her inner office and closed the door. "Have a seat, Tim. Over by the table." She reached into her desk drawer, pulled something small out, and then pulled up a chair to the other side of the table.

He was stunned, then, by her question. "Do you play cards?" she asked, and started shuffling the deck in her hands before he answered.

"Uh, yes, ma'am. Sometimes..."

"Do you know _Basra?_ No? Well, I'm going to teach it to you, then. It's also called _Ashush_ or _Assaba-al'-Komi_. If ever I need to send you undercover to the Middle East, you're going to have to know it. It's pervasive there."

She grinned on seeing his surprised and rather pleased look, but her only response was to get out bottles of water and a plate of cookies. They settled down to the game. Tim watched his boss deal the cards, and felt some of his troubles starting to melt in the informal atmosphere.

Jenny, in turn, felt it was a relaxing way to spend a few hours...making the peculiar task of babysitting a flighty agent bearable.

- - - - -

"Commander," said Ducky, "we'd like to have you come to NCIS with us. We think you may be ill."

"Poppycock!" said Alvarez. "I've never felt better. Gibbs, what _is_ all this about?"

"We think there's a possibility you've been infected with a disease, something attributable to Lieutenant Peskarev. McGee's ill, and you probably are, too. You both touched her without having gloves on."

"Now that's just ridiculous. Why, Nell, here can tell you..." he gestured in the direction of the smiling young woman in the gray pant suit; the young woman that only he could see.

"But, Commander, there's no one—"

Ducky broke in. "Of course, she's welcome to come with you. I'm sure we'll, er, have a fascinating discussion."

Alvarez smiled, pleased. "Hop in, Nell." He held the car door open for 'her'.

- - - - -

While Gibbs and his team and Alvarez got settled in a small conference room, Ducky paced. "I'd really rather not start this without Timothy."

Gibbs shrugged. "The Director said something about the _ashush_ matching everything, and that it'd be probably 20 minutes before McGee could get down here. I have _no_ idea..."

Ziva smiled knowingly. "They must be playing _Assaba-al'-Komi,_ also called _Basra._ I didn't know that the Director knew that card game."

"_Cards!"_

"We'll not wait, then," Ducky said. "Commander, I'd like to do some blood tests on you, but I'm reasonably sure that you have Morgellon's syndrome. It's a condition with various manifestations, including hallucinations..."

"How does that impact me?" Alvarez asked, and looked at 'Nell', puzzled.

Tim trotted in, looking...happy, for once. "Sorry I'm late, boss."

"You training to be a...Iranian coffeehouse card sharp, Probie?" The idea seemed far-fetched to Tony, but given the concentration of Nells in this case, nothing should be surprising.

"No! Maybe. What's this about, boss?" Only a stern look from Ducky withered Tim's smile. He took a seat across from Alvarez.

Ducky explained the need for blood tests, though for the time being held back what he feared he might discover in the tests. "Both of you may have contracted a form of Morgellon's syndrome—"

Tim twisted his eyebrows. "But that's a form of mental illness,' he protested, not pleased, for once, at the smattering of random knowledge he'd picked up. He scratched his wrist, then, noticing what he was doing, stopped.

"Perhaps. Some say it's a genuine, physical ailment."

"But most don't!"

"McGee!" Gibbs snapped. "You're not the doctor here!"

"Sorry," Tim mumbled.

"Timothy, it _is_ most likely a form of psychosis. It can include disorganized thinking, lack of insight into one's condition, hallucinations, loss of train of thought. Paranoia – that's written all over your face, Timothy."

"And the sensation of crawly things under the skin?" Alvarez asked quietly.

"Yes, that, too," said Ducky.

"It feels to me more like tiny wires or cables," said Tim. "Itching me constantly. Though sometimes, I swear they're moving around." He closed his eyes.

Ducky met Gibbs' eyes. Gibbs shook his head. No need to give them the full, grim story until the blood tests were in.

Gibbs' phone rang. "What?!...Okay, I'll be right up. Don't let them wander." To the others he said, "Two women named 'Nell' are in the squad room. Schultz' team is entertaining them." He left, with Ziva and Tony in tow.

Ducky quickly did the blood tests, and gave Tim and Alvarez each a lollipop for their patience. "No cherry ones?" Tim frowned at the lime one he'd been given.

"All out." Ducky eyed Alvarez. "Commander, I'm not sure you're fit for duty right now."

Alvarez nodded, grimly. "I'd been somewhat aware that not everything is right. I can temporarily turn things over to my second-in-command. My daughter's been wanting me to take a weekend in Pennsylvania with her and her family—"

"I'd advise against that, until we know where we stand. I'd prefer that neither of you leave Washington for the time being."

"That bad, eh?" Alvarez sighed. "How long do you think Dawn Peskarev was sick, until she died?"

"About four months; maybe five. Symptoms of her irrationality started to emerge in June."

"Ah." Alvarez glanced at Tim, thinking this was all a shame for one so young. "McGee, I'm going to call for a staff car to come pick me up. Walk out with me?"

"Sure, Commander."

"Don't forget Ms., er, Nell," said Ducky, looking pointedly at the vacant chair beside Alvarez.

"Now where did she go?" Alvarez wondered. "Guess she went up with Gibbs." He shrugged; sure he'd see her again soon.

Tim and Alvarez skirted the squad room. Gibbs, Tony and Ziva were busy there talking to two young, attractive women, who looked friendly and open.

They waited out beyond the NCIS gate in the hot, 6th-month-of-summer air, chatting. Soon the staff car arrived. "Tim, I hate to ask this of you; you're standing here with broken ribs and you must have a lot on your mind, but can I grab you for just half an hour to install the software you suggested that I get?" Alvarez gave him a half-smile.

"Why not? I don't think they need me in there. I should call Gibbs, though, and let him know I haven't run away..." He got into the car with the commander.

"Wait! Slow down, Ensign," Alvarez said to the driver a minute later.. "Couple of women, there, with a flat tire, it looks like..."

The car stopped, barely a block from NCIS. Alvarez and Tim got out and went up to the three gray-haired women. "Something we can help with, ladies?"

"Why, you certainly can, dear," one said sweetly. "Could you take a look at this, and see if we have the jack in the right position?"

Tim and Alvarez leaned in. "It looks like you've got it in the notch correctly," said Tim.

"Well, that's wonderful," the lady said. "But it doesn't really matter, because we're going to be taking _your_ car. Hands up."

A glance over their shoulders showed that the other two women had pistols leveled at them. When they glanced forward again, the first woman had one out, too.

"And here I thought _Mondays_ were bad," Tim grumbled.

The Ensign got out of the car with a cry. One of the woman cooly shot him down.

"Who the hell are you?!" Alvarez demanded.

"You can call us—"

"'Nell', I'll bet," said Tim, then to Alvarez, "Doesn't it figure?"

One of the Nells relieved Tim of his gun, and both of them of their cell phones. The men were then handcuffed, and shoved into the back seat of the staff car.

"Where are you taking us?"

"What is this; some bad movie where we tell you all the answers? We don't have to tell you anything."

"Well, good, 'cause we're not interested. Are we, Enrique?"

"I couldn't care less."

"Oh, stop that," one of the Nells said. "You're as annoying as the young women we sent inside NCIS to distract your team. I'll tell you this much: With Peskarev unfortunately dead too soon, you two are at least the next generation of the experiment. You've been infected, haven't you? I can see it on your faces. How very nice for our branch of science; we'll learn a lot from you...in your remaining days..." She smiled unpleasantly as the car drove off.


	6. Kidnapped

The two visiting Nells, skinny as models, perched like sparrows on the edges of seats in the squad room. Gibbs listened to them with somewhat strained patience, wishing that Klara Schultz and her team weren't hovering and eating up the weird show. He cast a menacing eye at Schultz; she ignored him blithely.

"So you see, Agent Gibbs, Dawn was like a sister to us. She has no family to speak of, and we just want to do the right thing by her. I understand she had Servicemembers Group Life Insurance; if that isn't enough to cover her funeral expenses, Nell, here, and I will be happy to make up the difference."

"That's right," said the second Nell. "We just need to have you release the body to us so we can give her a proper burial. Right away, if you can.."

"Your concern is so touching," said Schultz, pretending to wipe away a tear and sniffling.

"_Klara_—" Gibbs warned.

"—but it may be awhile before the autopsy is done. Days. Weeks. Months. Decades. Who can say? Leave us your card, and we'll get back to you. Whenever it is that we're done. And thank you _ever so much_ for coming. Bye, now!" Schultz motioned to her agents to escort the Nells back out.

When they were gone, everyone broke out laughing. "Klara, you have a mean streak a mile wide!" said Tony.

"Mean, but effective," Gibbs was forced to admit.

"Well, come on, Gibbs; this whole case is cuckoo as can be," Schultz said. "We've read your team's notes on it. All those people named 'Nell'? Give me a break! _Someone's_ cooked up quite a story, and gone to a lot of work to make up a background would make the _Twilight Zone_ people shake their heads! You need to find out what's true in it, and separate that from what isn't."

"Yeah. You're right. Maybe we've been taking too much at face value." Gibbs looked thoughtful. It had only been about 30 hours since Lieutenant Dawn Peskarev had died, but so much information had washed in in that time that they'd scarcely been able to lean back and truly rule out the more dubious 'facts'.

"Yes, like those notions that Tim and Commander Alvarez have been infected with living, parasitic circuitry."

"Unfortunately, that _is_ true," Gibbs said, over Tony and Ziva's gasps. They hadn't had time to read Ducky's recently-posted notes, that the under-the-skin sensations Tim and Alvarez had weren't just in their minds. Gibbs regretted not having had time to tell them.

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry, Gibbs."

"Yeah, well..." Gibbs' emotions warred between sadness and irritation. As peculiar as this case was, the one sure thing was that Tim and Alvarez were ill, and so far, no one knew what this might mean for them. A horrible death like Dawn Peskarev's? Even with the priority stamp of the Department of Defense on the order, it would still be days before the blood tests results were in. And who knew if there would be anything useful in the test results, with the infection period so new yet?

Ducky walked up, a small package in hand. "I was about to go post these samples, Jethro. This is Tuesday, hmmm; we _may_ have a reply by Saturday, though I wouldn't count on it."

"Where are Alvarez and McGee? Is Alvarez fit to return to work?"

"He agreed that he wasn't; he's going to step down for awhile. Timothy walked out with him, oh, twenty minutes ago. I'm surprised you didn't see them."

"We were conferring with two more Nells. Now where did McGee go this time?!" Gibbs snapped to no one in particular as Schultz and her team went back to their area.

Tony and Ziva looked blank. With a sigh, Gibbs got his phone out, then stared at it when there was no answer on his call to Tim. They all looked up when sirens of emergency vehicles passed the NCIS building with a wail, and then cut off.

Gibbs' desk phone rang. Jenny. "The police report finding an ensign, shot, just down Sicard Street. He's alive but in bad shape."

"On it!"

- - - - -

The ensign was unconscious when he was loaded into the ambulance. Gibbs' team did the usual sweep of the scene. From his ID they quickly determined that he was assigned to the Anacostia base. Gibbs' eyes swept to the Navy base across the river; hazy in the mid-afternoon sun. _Everything seems to come back to Anacostia_...

Nonetheless, he was surprised when he called the base to find that the ensign had been sent in a staff car to pick up the commander, and that neither the commander nor the staff car had returned. There was certainly no sign of a car now.

"_Tapes!"_ Gibbs bellowed to Tony and Ziva as they were packing up their gear. "Do our security cams reach this far?" About 300 feet from the main entrance to NCIS. They just might...

- - - - -

Up in MTAC, Gibbs and his team watched with Jenny as the digital "tape" rolled. Bingo; with a timestamp showing 31 minutes ago, there were Tim and Alvarez walking out, going past the gate, then standing and chatting at street side. Waiting for the staff car, most likely. A car pulled up; they got in.

"Where the hell does McGee think he's going?" Gibbs grumbled.

"Officially, he's still on admin leave," Jenny pointed out.

"But all things considered...he should have let me know if he was going somewhere..."

The car drove off, out of camera range. The team's spirits sagged.

"We'll switch to the rooftop cams," said Jenny. "They have greater range."

They hit pay dirt on the second rooftop cam. The timestamp showed just two minutes after the entrance cam had lost the car. A car, apparently broken down, at the side of the road; three older women clustered around it. The staff car came into view, and stopped. Jenny zoomed in on the picture as Tim and Alvarez got out.

Sighs erupted as they saw the scene of the women getting the drop on Tim and Alvarez, shooting the ensign, forcing the two men. into the car, and driving off. _In less than a block from our building!_ Jenny seethed.

"DiNozzo, get—"

"BOLO. Already on it, boss."

"Send out pictures of those women, too. Chances are they won't keep the car for long, though."

"You don't think this is a Thelma and Louise...and Louise thing, then?"

"Get your head out of the movie theater, DiNozzo. I think Alvarez and McGee were targeted. Our 'Nell' visitors may have been a distraction."

"Staff car found," Ziva reported not seven minutes later, just as Jenny located Tim's cell phone by GPS. "In Jesup Blair Park in Silver Spring. I know that park well. Sometimes I go there for my morning run." She stared at Tony, silently daring him to make a comment; either about her jogging, or worse, about obliging kidnappers taking Tim home.

Tony, though, only frowned. "Are we going, boss?"

"What other lead do we have, DiNozzo? Move it, people!"

- - - - -

The abandoned car turned up not much of use; fingerprints might be their only hope. Tim's and Alvarez' cell phones were found on the back seat. There was no sign of blood; in fact the car was relatively pristine, on first look. The lab would, of course, do a more thorough search. They could only hope that their people had not been harmed.

Gibbs wiped his tired eyes with his hands. It'd been far too long since he'd had coffee. He felt like he hadn't slept at all since yesterday morning. _The physically-hardest cases, the ones that gnaw at your mind, involve people you care about._ _There's not enough coffee in the world to cure those ills_...and there was no way of knowing if the kidnappers were close by, or moving farther away...

- - - - -

The room Tim and Alvarez were delivered to, after having been blindfolded in the second car, was windowless and a bit musty-smelling, but for all that, tidy and not unpleasant. _Like an in-law apartment,_ Tim thought. Bedroom, full bath, kitchenette, sitting room. _Windowless? Are we underground?_

"Amuse yourselves here," said one of the women who'd brought them. "You have all the modern conveniences except a telephone and a computer."

"How about a Blackberry?" asked Tim.

"No."

"Walkie-talkie?"

"No."

"Two cans tied with a string?"

"_No!"_

Alvarez looked at Tim curiously. _What is he up to_...

"It's musty in here. Don't you ever air this place out?" Tim complained. This earned him only a glare from the women.

"Come on," he persisted. "If there are no windows in here—and unless you roll them up and take them down when not in use, there don't appear to be any—then you must use a fan now and then to ventilate this place. Bring us a fan, would you? My allergies will kill me, if you don't..." He let the double meaning dangle.

"Bring them a fan, Nell," one of the women said to another, with a sigh. Within a few minutes she was back with a tower fan.

"Thanks so much," said Alvarez. "If you're expecting us to dress for dinner, you'll note that we didn't come with a change of clothes."

The woman in charge laughed. "You won't be joining us for dinner. Enjoy each other's company; you have plenty of food in your refrigerator." With that, the three women left; locking the door behind them; at least three bolts turning. Tim listened, and frowned.

Tim set up the fan at the side of the room and turned it on high. "Did you notice she laughed at your jokes, and not mine?" he grumbled.

"You really have allergies that bad?"

"Well, hay fever, anyway." Tim beckoned Alvarez to join him right up close to the fan; his hair flying in the breeze. "I don't carry a bug-detector device on me most days," Tim said, almost in the commander's ear. "But we should assume that the room is bugged. This is our best way to communicate without them picking up what we say. I hope."

"You don't think they put a bug on the fan?"

"Wouldn't have had time. This should be pretty secure."

"Is your name McGee or MacGyver?"

"Just trying to survive here, Enrique. The good thing is that we changed cars in Silver Spring, and only drove then about five minutes. I live in Silver Spring, so if we are able to get out of here, I should be able to reconnoiter."

"You're better than me, then. I live in Virginia."

"I promise not to hold that against you."

"I'm originally from New Mexico."

"Lovely state! I'm from—"

They both jumped away from the fan as they heard the door bolts unlatching. _What I want right now is a beautiful, veiled princess to be our secret rescuer and to lead us out through a hidden passage way, just like in the old comic strips,_ Tim thought.

Unfortunately the person entering turned out to be a man; about 60, blond but balding, and badly in need of months on a stair-master or on the tennis court. He wore a lab coat.

"So! You are my new subjects, yes? After the, ah, tragic death of Lieutenant Dawn Peskarev?" he said, with a trace of an accent that sounded Nordic.

Alvarez' hands had gone to fists. Tim held him back. "Did you kill Dawn?" Alvarez thundered.

"She would have died, sooner or later. In her condition. But I was so fortunate that you two allowed yourselves to become infected. We'll see how the circuitry grows within you."

"The...what?"

"Oh, hasn't your NCIS lab found this out yet? The substance that infected you contains tiny organic mixed-signal circuits; both analog and digital devices, which I developed, When enough of them have grown inside you, I'll be able to control you and use you in very...interesting fashions. If only Lieutenant Peskarev hadn't died so soon...I wonder what her brain looks like..."

"You've been sending women to NCIS to try to get the body back," Tim said. It was either talk, or think about the horrors that the man had just spoken.

"Yes, my team. They are hard workers, are they not?" He turned to go.

"And just who the hell are _you?!"_

"Oh, don't let me keep you from your dinner, just as you should not keep me from mine. I need you strong and healthy in the coming days and weeks. For our little..._tests._ You have only been infected for a day, but I think nonetheless we will start tomorrow." He grinned, a terrifying grin behind eyes that had no human mercy.

"_Who the hell are you?!"_

"Oh, I am the designer of this lab, the founder of this experiment," the man smiled again. "My name...is Nels."


	7. Two Teams Working

Nels Johansson stood at the high window on the second floor of the old house, looking out at the clouds sweeping across the sky as if in a long invading navy, sailing over this southern Maryland town. _So much can be accomplished now; more than I'd dreamed of, so soon. The original host is gone, true, and recovery of the body seems less and less likely. But—there is the second generation now. And that is exciting._

_Yes, inside the bodies of the two men, my creation is growing. It will multiply, bringing new life then connect its parts, and finally transmit its signals, just as I have created them to do. And then, in this alpha stage, I'll be able to start my plans to interrupt military transmissions_..._unless governments capitulate to me. And they will; oh, they will._

_The brain remains a stumbling block, however. Too high production of the circuitry will overwhelm the brain—that was probably the cause of Peskarev's death. Too low production, and the circuitry will age, wither and die in the body before becoming useful, before being capable of transmitting. The choice, then, would be to aim high. _

_If the brain kills the host, well, then, there are many other possible hosts._

_But these two! A decorated, high-ranking Navy officer, and a genius-level computer-tech special agent—how much havoc could be generated using them? Particularly the special agent—mixing software-defined radio capability with his rapidly-moving mind—this might be the initial fusion of human and machine that had been spoken of, and longed for, for centuries..._

He signaled to an aide who was standing at the door. "Nell, prepare the lab for the first of our subjects."

_This old house was a wise investment_..._since the former owners reinforced the place to support the weight of their many bookcases, I can easily do my lab work on any floor. And I may wind up with a number of subjects at once, so the equipment of keeping them in useful condition is not trivial in weight. The in-law apartment in the sub- basement is only a stop-gap measure. When the pens are built, then we'll see_...

- - - - -

"Jen, I don't know about this...you know I prefer to work alone." Gibbs gave supervisory special agent Klara Schultz a _no-offense _nod from his seat to the right of the Director's desk. She eyed him back; showing her classic, squinty, almost goofy smile that she reserved for the times when she wasn't about to throttle someone, particularly someone menacing her team.

"Your team is more than capable, Jethro," the Director said patiently. "But as I just said, you're down one man, and I have the Secretary of the Navy breathing down my neck about his missing base commander..."

_Breathing down my neck_... Gibbs didn't quite successfully hide a smirk when Schultz snorted. At least Schultz had a winning, if sometimes salacious, sense of humor.

Jenny ignored both of them. "...so Klara's team will be working with yours on this. Find Alvarez—and McGee, of course—and _fast."_

- - - - -

Schultz and her team brought their chairs down to Gibbs' team's area in the squad room. Gibbs wondered, silently, for at least the fiftieth time, why there wasn't a media-equipped conference room right off the squad room that they could use. Going upstairs seemed to mean losing the personal ties the teams had to their workspace; the comforts and well-worn-in equipment that served them day to day.

Tony had made room for the poised and lovely special agent Balere LeBeouf at his desk, as he always did. She treated him kindly, as always, and delicately ignored his double entendres, as always. Mickey Power sat with Ziva. A former Chicago inner-city cop, he appreciated her rough-and-tumble ways, and she, his. Joe Wicker, the senior agent and most quiet one, took Tim's seat, and no one begrudged him that; Joe was the closest friend Tim had at NCIS, outside his own team.

"This started out as your case, Gibbs," said Schultz. "You take the lead."

"Okay. Mind you, we're still a little busy trying to corral the effects of this infection and a possible antidote; Ducky and Abby are going full steam on that. We're also trying to trace these so-called Nells. What your team can best do is track Alvarez' connections. Somehow these people knew when Alvarez was here. I get the feeling everything comes back to Anacostia. Find the leak, or the bad apple, there."

"Have you talked to the lieutenant's coworkers at the base?" asked Balere.

"Just barely. You've read the reports we filed. Everything we've done so far is in there."

"All right; it's 5 o'clock now," said Schultz. "Let's plan on working until 8, and then we can grab dinner. How about that Belgian place? You know the one. We'll meet you there then."

Gibbs kept his frown to himself as Schultz and her team departed for Anacostia. Schultz had a different work style than he did. She kept her people happy by _scheduling_ downtime; he instead would prefer to work until it was expedient to stop. But the teams would have to work together, so he could put up with this, for awhile.

- - - - -

In their captive apartment, Tim had turned on the TV to a local station to get the 5 o'clock news. _MacGyver, yeah, right_..._I wonder if I could take apart this TV for any useful parts without getting caught? Maybe. Without getting electrocuted? Doubtful. I'm not much of a hardware guy_ in more than theory...

Alvarez tapped his shoulder to drag his attention back to the TV. The news was reporting the kidnapping of a Navy commander, 'believed to have been staged by a terrorist group'. _Well, not really, but fine._ 'Terrorism' was a simple but powerful term that brought in viewers. People would sooner believe in stereotypical masked terrorists with assault rifles than believe in mad women named Nell.

_Well, so would I,_ Tim thought, after a moment. _Such a sweet, old-fashioned name 'Nell' was_...

The report didn't mention that an NCIS special agent had also been kidnapped. Tim didn't particularly mind; he knew that special agents were ordinary, and he liked it that way.

Now they were showing a press conference with the Director. She didn't often do press conferences—this one was in front of the NCIS building; Tim knew she'd allow the Press inside only over her dead body—but there she was; the lowering sun behind her as she grimly faced the sea of microphones and cameras.

"_Part of NCIS' mission is to_ _serve notice on those who would harm or threaten our courageous men and women of the Navy and the Marine Corps,"_ Jen was saying. _"We will not rest until this matter is solved, Commander Enrique Alvarez is found, and his abductors are brought to justice."_

Tim suddenly felt afraid; very much afraid, and he turned away, shaking. Not remembering his train of thought from just a moment ago, he began wildly speculating that the reason she hadn't mentioned him was because she'd already written him off as a loss, and certainly wouldn't expend any of the agency's meager funds in this cash-strapped decade of "continuing resolutions" to look for _him_. He started crying and found he couldn't stop.

"Tim?" Alvarez said hesitantly. He hadn't witnessed many of Tim's crying jags and didn't know how to respond. "Here, Tim; let's listen to what Jenny has to say. She's spitting out boilerplate. We can tear it apart; wouldn't that be fun? I often do that sort of thing. Not just with Jenny, of course. With all the blowhards."

Tim shook his head, and tried to make himself into a ball as he cried. Alvarez sighed, removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and then rummaged in the refrigerator for the makings of dinner for the two of them.

- - - - -

It was dark when the two teams met at the Belgian restaurant north of the Navy Yard, joined by Abby and Ducky. The atmosphere was welcoming, but the mood not entirely bright.

Tony picked at the appetizer of tomatoes stuffed with shrimp. "The phone numbers, the addresses, everything on the business cards the Nells have given us are fake. I feel like we're spinning our wheels."  
"They're con artists. Did you really expect _real_ contacts?"  
"Are you going to eat that?"  
"I talked to an E-2 who said there'd been scientists in and out of the base since February or March."  
"Is that suspicious?"  
"Miss? Can I get another one of these beers? St. Bernardus?"  
"It's suspicious because there hasn't been a new research project since the Eberly one finished in December. Most of the research has migrated to Norfolk."  
"But surely some work is still done at Anacostia?"  
"Some. But we're talking repeat visits by three scientists, and one in particular."  
"DiNozzo; get your own appetizers!"  
" 'One in particular?' "  
"Ducky, dear, could you pass me the sugar?"  
"For you, Balere, it would be a pleasure."  
"Yes, there was, or is, a scientist who has been seen a lot. Big Nordic type. Friendly enough; seems harmless."  
"What's he doing there?"  
"No one seems to be clear. I haven't gone far enough up the chain to find out."  
"Does anyone want the rest of my_ asperges op z'n vlaams_? They're really good, but I want to save room for my entree."  
"I wish you'd thought of that before I ordered!"  
"Any luck on the chain of Nells?"  
"Yeah; just before we came over here. I tell you, this case gets weirder and weirder..."  
"What? Spit it out, Tony!"  
"Who ordered the St. Bernardus? And the Leffe Blonde?"  
"Over here, miss. Thank you!"  
"You know that it was McGee who compiled the list of Nells this morning? Seven Nells to Lieutenant Peskarev? Sounds like a movie."  
_"Tony..."_  
"I'm getting there! Anyway, I just got through two on the list. Two of the Nells—Nell Bullfinch, the English teacher, and Nellie Johnson, from her school drama club—never existed."  
"You're joking!"  
"Guys—can I have your attention for a moment?"  
"What for, Abby?"  
"We're having a nice time here, and the food is great. But I'd like to make a toast to the people who aren't here with us tonight: Tim and Commander Alvarez."  
" 'To McGee, and Alvarez'."

The words rose like a storm.

- - - - -

The bolts on the in-law apartment door rattled, and a cheerful older woman, one of those behind their abduction, came in, followed by two sterner looking women with guns. "Hello, dears," said the first woman. "It is time. One of you will be going through the first range of tests. Neither of you are bothered by electroshocks, are you? Or by very large needles?" Her grin was most unpleasant.

- - - - -

_To be continued_...


	8. Nels' Lab

Tim stepped forward quickly when the Nell "asked" one of them to follow her. _Not that there's much I can do to stop anything from happening__, but still__…_

The Nell was going on about something while they walked. He paid little attention either to her or to the armed escorts; trying instead to absorb as much as he could about their location. The place had the feeling of a house rather than a commercial building. They entered a moderately large, metal-sided elevator with padding on the walls, and Tim decided his guess about a house had been wrong. Someone has been moving a lot of equipment. Heavy stuff, too, judging by some of the gouges in the padded coverings.

When the indicator stopped at 2—Tim noticed the highest floor marked was 3—they got off. To his surprise, this floor was more house-like: old-fashioned flocked wallpaper; wooden door frames; soft incandescent lighting; floorboards that creaked under the carpeting…His thoughts abruptly changed when the Nell opened a door to a large room. At one time this room might have been a ballroom in this 19th century (he judged) house; what might have been the site of parties, though, was now filled with shiny equipment and two padded tables flanked by instruments and cables. _This is _so_ not like the house _I_ grew up in…_

"Ah. Welcome, Agent McGee." The man Nels stepped out from behind a piece of equipment that Tim couldn't identify. "I am not surprised that you were the one to come. So compassionate, and determined to serve others…hmmph. I have looked into your background." He ambled forward. "Bright young man, no, _brilliant _young man who chooses a career in federal law enforcement; one open to anyone with a bachelor's degree. What a waste! You should be applying yourself to the sciences, Agent McGee, as I have."

"I like my job," Tim said, simply. "And computer work _is_ related to the sciences." _Am I saying the right things? __Should I be trying to bide time?__Or to learn more about this operation; maybe get on the guy's good side?_

_Does Gibbs have enough information to start a search for us?_

"You know what I mean. You are capable of so much more." He looked Tim up and down. "You have broken ribs. From your car accident yesterday?"

"How do you know?"

"From the way that you hold yourself," said Nels, walking around him. "I also have a medical degree, among other things."

_Another twist!_ _But how does he know about the accident, unle__ss he was behind it? I suppose he could have gotten the information from somewhere else, but, as they say, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. _"Well, then, do you have any painkillers I can take? Mine have worn off, and I left the pills back at the office," _Why am I even asking this of a criminal?!_

But Nels only looked a little surprised at the request. He then shrugged. "I do want to keep you in good shape. I need you to be in top form." Going to a desk, he pulled out a pad. "What were you given for the pain?"

"Uh…acetominophen with hydrocodone."

Nels nodded, and scribbled, then pulled out a cell phone. "Hello, Marty; it's Dr. Johansson. I'm going to send one of my associates over with a prescription for acetominophin with hydrocodone for a visiting friend who was in an accident. Will that be all right for her to pick it up? Yes, I know you close at nine; she'll be right there." He ended the call, and pointed to one of the armed Nells. "Nell, you go. You know Farrer's Pharmacy; just down the road. Send another armed Nell up on your way out." He handed her the prescription.

"Yes, Doctor."

Tim's heart jumped as a flash of hope raced through it. _Farrer's__ Pharmacy! Could there be more than one? And is the pharmacist I've met there named 'Marty'? I can't remember…_

"It'll be a little while before she returns, Agent McGee. In the meantime, please get up on the table and lie down. I want to do some tests."

Having no choice, Tim did so, groaning as his twisting irritated his ribs. But that wasn't his worst moment. That was reserved for the sound of Nels snapping on the restraints.

- - - - -

Alvarez faced the door to the in-law apartment grimly as the locks were becoming undone. He fully expected to see Tim shoved in, bloody and barely conscious, and he wanted to be ready to provide any aid that he could.

So he looked in wonder when Tim strolled in, waving over his shoulder, carrying a casserole dish in one hand and a plate of brownies in another, and apparently chewing one. _"Tim??"_

"Oh, hi, Enrique," Tim said as the door was bolted shut. "Have a brownie. They're scrumptious! No nuts. One of the Nells, the tall, brunette one, made them. She likes to cook, and I think she likes me. She made this turkey casserole, too." He put the dish in the refrigerator."

Alvarez motioned Tim to join him in the roar of the fan. "What did they do to you? You seem pretty chipper, all for being gone over an hour."

"Nels did some tests, like a physical. It turns out that he's a doctor. He did blood tests, x-rays, that sort of thing. Tests on my reflexes, too. I don't know why that should be so important, but he seemed to think it was. And he got me painkillers to replace those that I left at the office, so I'm not feeling too bad right now." Tim's smile was, in fact, quite cheerful. "No, not feeling bad at all."

"All right. I get it. You're a little loopy. Did he say what happens next?"

Tim grew serious, which in his state meant his smile dimmed just a little. "No, but I know what my next step is: I'm going to try to get him to take me on as an assistant."

"You want to find out what he's up to."

"Yes. Someone's got to. I don't really know much about electronics, but I can learn."

"Well…be careful, Tim."

- - - - -

Even before 7 o'clock the next day, Wednesday, the two NCIS teams were back at work with a vengeance. Schultz' team had gone back to Anacostia to interview more naval personnel; Gibbs' team rode the phone lines and the internet in search of answers.

"That's non-existent Nell number four scratched from Peskarev's past, boss," Tony reported, hanging up the phone. "And that lady in Palo Alto was _really_ in a bad mood, too…Oh. It's only 3:55 AM out there. Maybe that's why. You want me to keep trying for the other three, or do we have enough data?"

Ziva joined in, hanging up her phone. "I have a preliminary sketch of Peskarev. Never married, no children; two significant relationships in her past, though she never lived with either. Both boyfriends reported that they broke it off because she was a workaholic. No community involvement to speak of, other than volunteering at her local soup kitchen every Thanksgiving,"

"She didn't spend Thanksgiving with anyone? Outside the soup kitchen?"

"Yes, I thought that was unusual for Americans and Canadians. It's a day of getting together with family, or at least friends, yes? A feast day. All cultures have those."

"Well, not everyone has family, or friends who are free on that day. And some do see it as an opportunity to help others."

"But for one as apparently dedicated to her job as she was…the Navy would have been her family. And I'm sure they celebrated Thanksgiving on the base, for all those who couldn't get home for the holiday."

"I wonder just when she became infected," Gibbs said suddenly. "I wonder when she realized it. I wonder when, or if, she realized she could infect others…"

- - - - -

Shultz' team returned in the late afternoon. "We talked to 989 people on base, and the base stealth cat that's listed as an _effect_ rather than a _pet,_ since the latter's not allowed."

"You talked to a cat? What did it say?" asked Tony, while Gibbs said, "I know there aren't 989 people on duty there, Schultz, and even if there were, the four of you couldn't have done that many interviews in eight hours."

"That's because you do one-on-one interviews, Gibbs," she grinned. "I gather a group of about forty and put them in a room, and do a group interview."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. She just might be telling the truth. _…Nah._

"The cat," she added, "wouldn't talk. Not even with a bribe of tuna. I may have to bring it in for more cuddling, er, questioning."

"We found out," her team member Joe said, dragging the scene away from the absurd, "that Peskarev's behavior was pretty normal until she got all that extra work when those other two lieutenants were reassigned. One's now in Pensacola, Florida; the other in Groton, Connecticut. I really think we need to talk to them."

Gibbs glanced at Schultz, who nodded. "Get on it, Joe," she said, and he headed for his own desk.

"Mickey and I had a different idea," said Balere, nodding at her other teammate. "As we mentioned at dinner last night, there have been scientists visiting the base even after the end of the last project. Visiting scientists shouldn't raise any flags, _unless_ they become repeat visitors."

"Right," said Mickey. "Two, we found, were on a study program from Italy; we've ruled them out. But three people were there a lot. One of them, a guy whose credentials say he's from the Esrange Space Center near Kiruna, Sweden. Name's Nils Ekerot, electronics specialist. He was involved with the creation and launch of Sweden's _Odin_ satellite in 2001; since then he's been doing his own research, it seems. At least this is what he's told people; we don't have substantiation of it yet."

" 'Nils'," Tony mused. "Sounds a bit like 'Nell', doesn't it?"

"By a long stretch, maybe," said Ziva. "Are you two going to continue to check this Nils out?"

"Yes," said Balere. "As far as we can tell, he still doesn't seem to have a plausible reason for being there. And those other two scientists Mickey mentioned…We checked the base visitor log. Many of the days that Ekerot was there, so were they."

"We've done all we can at Anacostia for the time being, Gibbs," said Schultz. "Now we'll do the good, old-fashioned phone work."

"Keep us informed."

- - - - -

About this time, Tim and Alvarez had another conference next to the fan. Alvarez had just returned from his meeting/physical with Nels, no worse (he assumed) for the experience, although he mentioned seeing up to 20 Nells in the room. Tim silently wrote that off as a hallucination; Alvarez seemed otherwise in control of himself.

"Isn't it at this point in the movies that the captor is doing horrifying torturing?" Alvarez remarked, "Neither of us have been tortured yet."

"You _want_ to be tortured, Enrique?"

"If we don't get a change of pace here, I'll torture myself. No, of course I don't want to be tortured. I just don't understand this."

"I think I do," Tim said quietly. "It's only been two days since we've been infected. Nels is waiting for the circuitry within us to grow, to the point where he can use us…for whatever this project's about."

"He did say something to one of the Nells about Sunday being the starting point. Of what, I don't know."

Tim felt his paranoia grow. _No one is going to rescue us, at least not me. No one cares…I'm going to die here, if I can't find a way out…_

- - - - -

He was taken aback, then, when Nels had him brought back up to the lab in the early evening. "Agent McGee, do sit down. Can I offer you some wine?"

"Should I be drinking while on these meds?"

"Well, perhaps not, then. As a rule. Nell, bring us some hot chocolate, please. Do you prefer mini-marshmallows or whipped cream on top, Agent McGee?"

"Whipped cream." _Gad. Now he'll know everything about me…Oh, stop it, Tim; it's just hot chocolate._

"Enjoy," said Nels, when the Nell came back with a tray. "This is imported. Agent McGee, is there anyone much loved in your background? Your grandmother, perhaps? You have her picture on a mug,"

_He's been in my apartment, __dammit_ "My grandmother does not concern you," he said cooly.

Nels shrugged. "I am not your foe, Agent McGee, unless you want me to be. I have learned that one of your grandmothers was named Eileen and the other one, Marthe. Which is the one on the mug?"

Tim gave Nels a look of pure hatred, having some idea of where this was going.

"Answer me, Agent McGee."

A cold, hard gun barrel pressed against the back of Tim's neck. He sighed, knowing that if he didn't answer, he was doomed. "It's Marthe. My mother's mother."

"Your _bestemor_, as they would say in her native Norway."

Tim didn't bother correcting him, letting him know that the family had come to the US a couple generations before that, and dear Granny Hansen didn't speak more than half a dozen words of Norwegian, although she said _Uff__da_ a lot when vexed, as did many Minnesotans. It wasn't that Tim feared for his family's safety; evidently Nels had enough info on them to find them if he wished.

No, Tim knew that _Marthe_ would be the name that would be made, in his brain, to appear all over his past until it drove him mad…just as had evidently happened with Lieutenant Peskarev and the name _Nell_. When he looked up at Nels, the scientist bore a triumphant, wholly evil, smile.

- - - - -

_To be continued…_


	9. Under the Gun

Gibbs and Schultz arrived at the same time the next morning, and gave each other a typical (for them) morning snarl as they both tried to be the first in the elevator. When the elevator reached the second floor, Schultz used a sharp elbow to be the first out. Gibbs rolled his eyes.

There was a message, a sticky note, tacked to his monitor when he reached his desk. _Both of you. __My office.__ Immediately!_ it read. He sighed and looked up. Schultz waved her identical message at him. They charged for the stairs.

"I need to know what progress has been made," said Jenny without preamble as the two supervisory special agents hustled in. "I now have _both_ the Secretary of the Navy _and_ the Chief Naval Officer on my back—Klara, stop smirking, or I _will_ hit you. I need _results _and I need them _fast!__"_

Gibbs flipped his hands. "Some leads, no real evidence. The whole thing reads like a second-rate sci-fi novel."

"I can't go to the DOD with that!" Jenny snapped. "Make progress, and make it _today_!"

It would have been standard, and easy, just to nod, bite back a grump, and get back to work. Some days the brass just expected you to do the impossible, and all you could do was just give it your best shot. Gibbs was about to do this standard routine when Schultz broke the spell.

"This is bull and you know it, Jen," she retorted. "This case is no different from any other. Cases take time to be done right. Move too fast and someone may get hurt."

_"You have your orders, Schultz! I expect them to be followed!"_

"You'd do that, as a special agent yourself, Jen? You'd rush in just to satisfy the bosses?"

"Our agency is committed to finding our missing commander, and rescuing him! That's what we're here to do! I have to kowtow to the DOD or to Congress sometimes, yes, but that's what we have to put up with. And don't you think for a minute, _Agent_ _Schultz_, that you have any choice but to follow the orders that trickle down to you. The SON and the CNO want their man back; have you lost sight of that?!"

"No," said Schultz with chilling clarity. "But I also remember that one of _our_ men, McGee, is also missing. I don't want to put _him_ in danger, either. Do you remember who he is? McGee? Kinda shy, geeky, hazing magnet for Tony and Ziva? He's so quiet that you've probably forgotten him. _But I haven't!"_

_"You are _out of line_, Agent!"_

_"Only because I expect more from a director, Director!"_

_"OUT!!"_ Jenny's eyes were ablaze. _"Report _on my desk_ by 6 o'clock today!!"_

Gibbs and Schultz left. He respectfully allowed her in the elevator first.

- - - - -

Bypassing the squad room, they headed for Autopsy. "Got anything for us, Ducky? We're under the gun," said Schultz.

"Ah, the powers that be want solutions, and they want them now," Ducky said knowingly. "Isn't that always the case: rush around, pretend that by shouting enough one can produce results. Would that things could be so easily accomplished! Now as for our unfortunate lieutenant…" He moved around the side of the table. "I can tell you this much: Based on the decay rate of the tissues killed off by the invading _cells,_ for lack of a better term, I would say the infection appears to have occurred around January of this year. It took awhile for the cells to reach the number that started to make her personality change evident."

"January? And not, say, November of last year?"

"Oh, no, Jethro. It's possible that February was the month. But not _earlier_ _than_ January; the evidence just is not there."

Gibbs and Schultz exchanged relieved glances. So the soup kitchen angle was out, and so was that threatened line of infection. Good.

"There is something else, though; and you'll probably want to talk to Abby about it. It involves the electrical components themselves…"

- - - - -

Abby was twirling in place when Gibbs and Schultz entered her lab. "Hi, guys! I'm glad you came! Look! Look at this!" She gestured toward a screen. "We've talked about parasites, right? And electronics? Well, my research shows that they're not such a far-out combination after all. In a sense, that is.

"Parasitic arrays, in electronics, refer to the ability to absorb energy and re-radiate it. They reflect it. And there's a concept called _parasitic capacitance_. _Capacitance_ refers to how a circuit element stores a charge. That's the short version. It refers to electrostatic discharge protection in high-speed circuitry. Diode suppressors are used in high-speed digital circuitry. Now, parasitic reflectors—"

"Abby…"

"Sorry. The short explanation is: this circuitry was most likely implanted in her for use as some sort of communication system. Think everything from cell phones to wifi and beyond. Think where we would be if somehow our communications all failed."

"The nightmare of the e-bomb. An electrical pulse, as terrorist weapon," Schultz murmured.

"Yes, but this is on a different standard, I think. I could be wrong. Imagine, now, if you had a system that could get into sensitive and top secret areas and jam or even modify broadcasts; a system that no one would suspect…"

"A jamming system, in human form…"

"Yes! Exactly! That, I think was what they were going to do with the lieutenant! Of course, I could have figured this out faster if I'd had my geek to help me…Gibbs, Klara, please bring my geek back…"

Schultz, then Gibbs, hugged her. "That's our goal, Abby," said Schultz. "Let us know if you turn up anything else."

- - - - -

In the squad room, they brought together the two teams, and quickly told them what they'd learned.

Joe's eyes popped. "That's very interesting. Her two former co-workers, Colchester and Eisen, were both talented with electronics, I've learned. When I called them and mentioned it, just fishing, you understand, both acknowledged it but didn't say much about it."

"Too close to call a coincidence," said Gibbs. "I'll have the Pensacola and Groton offices bring them in for further questioning."

"And that visiting scientist—Ekerot? The electronics specialist?" asked Ziva.

"Let's bring him in here. The base must have contact information for him."

- - - - -

Tim met up with Nels, at Tim's request, in mid-morning. "I've been thinking about what you said earlier. If the offer still stands, I'd like to work with you," Tim said, carefully bland.

"Oh? Why the, ah, change in heart, Agent McGee?"

_Careful, now._ "I won't go so far as to betray my country or put anyone in danger, mind you. But I do enjoy the sciences; my parents are both scientists. I'm always eager to learn something new. I don't know much about electronics, and I'd hope you could fill in those gaps for me."

"That I can; that I can. But what are you expecting to get out of this?"

_What answer is he looking for?_ "I'm hoping not to die. Not soon, and certainly not in the horrible fashion that Lieutenant Peskarev did. I want you to do something to prevent that."

Nels' eyes narrowed. "But, you understand, I need test subjects. Are you suggesting I concentrate on the commander instead?"

"_No_!" Tim said sharply, then added, "I can still be your subject. Just be…humane, would you?"

The scientist's expression was unreadable. "Very well," Nels said at last. "To the extent that it is feasible, I shall see that you do not suffer. Now, I will send you back to your quarters. Have a hearty lunch; you will start assisting me at noon."

- - - - -

"Gibbs, this doesn't multiply up, and it's driving me crazy."

"What's that, Ziva?" he said, not correcting the idiom.

"These Nells. First McGee compiles a list of females named Nell in Peskarev's background. Then Tony digs into their backgrounds, and says they all died in the last year. Then he digs some more and claims they never existed! Now, now all of these cannot be true!"

"Figure out what _is_ true, then."

"How long do I have?"

"Until 5 o'clock."

She gave him a look, then turned back to her computer.

"DiNozzo—Get inside McGee's mind—"

"Ick!"

"—and analyze what he'd be likely to do to try to contact us; how he'd get out of wherever he's being held. I don't have time to do this myself. Write me a scenario."

"Okay, boss. Inside the mind of Paranoid Probie I go." Tony went to his desk, muttering about having to pretend to think like McGeek.

"I'll help you, Tony," Balere said. "I took a number of psychology courses in college, and I think I know Tim pretty well."

"You sound like you want to date him." Tony grimaced.

She smiled. "Oh…geeks can be pretty appealing."

He made a face. _Not in_ this _universe…_

- - - - -

Mickey swore at the phone while hanging it up. "Dead end, Klara. The base hasn't seen Nils Ekerot since Monday. The address they have for him turns out to be non-existent. I asked for the record of the car he brought onto base. The license plate of the car is registered in his name, it's a Maryland plate, but the address is a commercial location."

"No one residing there?"

"Well, I didn't check that. Let me see…zoned for research; not residential. It's in Bethesda, on Wisconsin Avenue."

"Check it out!"

- - - - -

Gibbs and Schultz worked together at fever pitch all morning and all afternoon. They knew that Jenny's threats were never idle; some sort of progress had to be shown to her by day's end. With a little less sniping at each other than usual, they gained a little ground.

"Mickey says the Bethesda location is false, unless Ekerot lives at the back of a tanning salon."

"And Joe's notes say that our Newport, Rhode Island and Pensacola offices are trying to talk to Colchester and Eisen, but both lieutenants have been out sick all week. Joe had reached them by their cell phones, but both phones now only go to voice mail. Hmmm; this is Thursday; that's a long sick stretch. They're sending out agents to pick them up."

"Think we'll have an answer by 6?"

"Think you'll win the lottery this week?"

"There's always hope, Gibbs. Hope is what keeps me going."

"You shouldn't have riled Jenny like that this morning, you know."

"I know. I like Jen; I really do. But sometimes she really gets my goat. I probably should apologize to her."

"Well, let's wait to see what our report turns out to be today. If we have good enough news, maybe you won't have to."

"And if we don't," Schultz said with a short laugh, "I may be looking for another job."

- - - - -

Tim reported for work at Nels' second-floor lab right at noon, walking in still chewing a chocolate cookie made by the Nell who liked to cook. _She's pretty nice, for someone mixed up in this weirdness_…

"You are here." Nels sounded faintly pleased. "I do not have time to be your instructor. You will study the texts that I have place on this computer. I have disabled the internet access, so do not think you can contact anyone. Just read, and work on the practice lessons. You are bright enough to absorb it. At, let's say 3 o'clock, you can take a break and begin assisting me."

"Sounds good," Tim said. _There must be something I can pick up here that can help us get out_...

- - - - -

Jenny summoned Gibbs and Schultz to her office shortly after 6. "Well?" she said harshly. "There's my desk. Do you see a report on it?!"

"Jen, be reasonable…"

"It is not my job to be 'reasonable', Jethro! I have already told you that I need results. Now where the hell are they?!"

"We _are_ working on it, Jenny," said Schultz, eyes lowered.

"You've been factoring in McGee's likelihood of trying to contact us, to escape, haven't you?"

"It's, er, one of the avenues we've been exploring."

"Not any more it isn't! I told you I wanted results on the disappearance of the _commander_. At this point, McGee is expendable. We'll not waste another agency dime on finding _him._ You concentrate on finding the commander, and _only_ the commander. _Is that clear, agents?"_

"Perfectly," said Schultz, and flattened Jenny with one punch. "Is this?" Depositing her gun and her badge on Jenny's desk, she walked out.

- - - - -

_To be continued_…


	10. Code Names

Jenny sat up groggily; her hand at her sore jaw. Gibbs crouched beside her, and steadied her. "What happened?" she mumbled.

"A meteor hit the building," he answered, and was glad when she glared at him. Her thinking was intact.

"Klara Schultz socked me," she then said. "I can do worse to her than _that_." She let Gibbs help her to her feet.

"Outside the court system, I doubt it. She left you her gun and her badge."

"Damn.. I don't have time or this nonsense. All right, Jethro; you're on your own in this. You've still got the teams. I'm counting on you."

_Teams, plural. Oh my God…_ He nodded, and left.

- - - - -

Klara Schultz answered the banging at her door a few hours later with a glance through the peephole and then a glare at Gibbs. "I should have known it would be you, on this perfect day," she groused. "Come on in."

"You sure you want to be drinking…scotch?" he guessed, seeing the glass in her hand. "Drowning your sorrows?"

"My sorrows are Olympic-level swimmers, thank you, and no, I'm not sure I want to be drinking scotch. Champagne seems more appropriate, don't you think?" She poured him a drink; knowing his tastes, she didn't have to ask.

"Why'd you do it, Schultz? You know how Jenny is. I don't think she really meant what she said about McGee."

Crossing the room, she paused; looked at a photo on the mantelpiece of her and her team."Oh, she meant it, all right. I guess you don't get to her position without being willing to drive a tractor over a few peasants who happen to be in the way. Even if, or especially if, they're only doing their jobs."

"She was stressed. Later, she'll regret it. She's not really that callous…" He looked into his glass of scotch. "…but, thank you for standing up for McGee. I really appreciate that."

Schultz did smile then, a little half-smile; regret strengthened by purpose. "Our teams are worth it. _He's_ worth it."

"You're right...what are your plans, job-wise?"

She paused. "I'm going to think about it. I have something else to keep me busy at the moment…now that I don't have all that cursed red tape to distract me. I, ah, don't suppose you could print out some stuff and bring it to me…?"

He stared at her for a long minute. "You're going to keep trying to find McGee!"

"And the commander. I figure they're a twofer."

Gibbs slapped the arm of his armchair. "You didn't plan this _Tell me_ you didn't plan this!"

"Fine. I didn't plan to punch out my boss; honest. I have a temper; you know that. But since this morning, I could tell which way the wind was blowing. She's blinded by this need to find Alvarez, and thereby make her boss happy, Gibbs. And while I want Alvarez back, too, I can't let her throw McGee away. It goes against everything I thought we stood for."

Gibbs finished his drink. "I'll get you those print-outs, and keep you informed. Thanks…Klara."

"No need for the thanks…Jethro."

- - - - -

That evening, Alvarez returned from a session with Nels, shaken. "He's trying to fix a code name in my mind, that bastard."

"What's the name?"

"Well, I'd thought he'd try to do this, after what you told me about your grandmother's name. So I chose a name that doesn't have an emotional tie to me, though. I said it was an uncle's name: Fidel."

Tim smiled in grim understanding. "So you think there will be a lot of Fidels around you?"

"I hope not. Maybe if there's no emotional tie, that will prevent that part of the madness from developing. I just hope it isn't replaced with a different kind of madness. Now your grandmother's name is Martha?"

"No, _Marthe_. The 'h' isn't pronounced in Norwegian TH compounds, so it sounds more like 'Mar-ta.' I don't know anyone else by that name."

"There are Martas in my family,it's a Hispanic name, but this name is _your_ delusion, not mine. I hope you don't start seeing Marthes around you."

Tim sighed wearily. "Me, too. How many Nells do you see now?"

Alvarez looked surprised. "Why, Tim; I don't just _see_ them. They're right here with us!" He surveyed the flock of attractive women who stood or sat around the room; some in street clothes, some in Navy uniforms. "Let's see…eight right now."

"Too bad one isn't the baking Nell. I liked those brownies she made."

"Are you still having paranoid thoughts?" Alvarez asked shrewdly, ignoring Tim's little jibe.

"I don't have paranoid thoughts!"

"Yes, you do. You're still scared of what Gibbs, Jenny, and Dr. Mallard will do to you. You've said so a dozen times."

"Only because I mess up everything I do." Tim sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry about all of this, Enrique. I got you into this fix. I'm a special agent; I should have been able to prevent this from happening."

"If a peculiar set of circumstances occurred, maybe. Tim, one thing I've learned in my years of commanding is that no one, no matter how skilled they are, can anticipate everything. This includes special agents with 20 years in. And I also believe that, if caught off-guard, what one does next is just as important."

"Yeah! You tell 'im, Sweetie!"

"Woot! Go, 'rique!"

"Honey, honey! Lookin' good!"

"What did you say?" Tim looked at the commander, puzzled.

"Hmmm? I said that one's actions subsequent to being taken by surprise are—"

"No, after that."

"I didn't say anything after that."

"But I thought I heard…" Tim let it trail off. He didn't want to say what he was thinking: _women's voices._

- - - - -

Nels kept creeping up behind Tim while Tim continued his reading of the electronics texts. Tim would turn his head, and Nels would be there, only to slide away on some other mission. It became unnerving after awhile.

Finally Tim said, "What _is_ it you want, Johansson?!"

"Nothing at all, Agent McGee. I am sorry for the intrusion." But he didn't stop.

Tim felt his tension growing. His head ached, his ribs hurt, he became afraid—of what, he couldn't say. An image of Granny Hansen came into his mind. _Marthe…_ The name echoed in his mind. _Marthe Marthe Marthe Marthe…_

"I don't know what you think you're doing," he snapped at Nels. "This was supposed to be a mutually-beneficial approach: you would get a lab assistant; I would get to learn electronics. Why are you sabotaging this?"

"Am I, Agent McGee?" Nels turned predatory eyes on him.

"Yes, you are. Marthe would say the same—" In horror, Tim threw both hands over his mouth. Nels only smirked.

- - - - -

Alvarez was dozing when Tim returned to the in-laws' apartment late that night. Tim scanned the room, but couldn't see anyone there other than the commander. Standing still, though, with his eyes closed, he was sure he could hear the rustle of fabric, perhaps as legs shifted in sitting, along with murmurs and random, softly-spoken words.

_Enrique wouldn't_, said one voice. _Left behind,_ said another.

_Marthe_, his mind hammered at him. _Marthe Marthe Marthe…_

_Marta?_ said one of the voices. _Do we know any 'Martas'?_

Tim sank onto the couch, and would have sworn he heard fabric rustling again, and quiet steps as of high-heeled shoes, moving away from the couch. _I'm losing my mind. This isn't real; it can't be real. I'm not hearing what I think I'm hearing. It's an audio hallucination__…_

_…just like the hallucinations Lieutenant Peskarev had before she died…_

- - - - -

_To be continued…_


	11. Interrogation

Friday morning, tension made knife cuts in several people's minds.

At NCIS, Gibbs, having arrived early, changed his mind 100 times about what he would say to Schultz' team when they arrived, knowing that he had to say something, since Jenny certainly wouldn't.

In Georgetown, Klara Schultz rose at her usual time, remembered she didn't have a job to go to, snarled at the bag of coffee beans in her freezer for being almost empty, and settled down at the table with a legal pad to jot out her plan of attack.

In the in-law apartment somewhere, Tim worried and worried as he sat at the edge of the bed.; His heart raced like a NASCAR engine, and he wondered if death by heart attack would be preferable to death in the fashion Lieutenant Peskarev experienced. _Or did she likewise become desperate, and triggered her own death? Will I get to that point?_

And in the upper floors of that same house, Nels Johansson, the only happy one in this group, hummed an old _gammal dans_ tune while he dressed and prepared to make a drive to the place he'd gone to once or twice a week for close to a year.

- - - - -

"Klara 's resigned?!" her team member Balere said in disbelief Friday morning. "Why, Gibbs?"

Perched on Schultz's desk, Gibbs met Balere's eyes, and then Joe's, then Mickey's. "Personal reasons," he said, hoping that would end it.

"Did she have a run-in with the Director?" asked Mickey.

"She resigned," Gibbs repeated, stifling a sigh. "Until a new team leader is appointed, it looks like you'll be working with me." _The high school principal. _"Keep up with what you were doing yesterday." He eyed the three agents, who were clearly still in shock. _They'll get used to it, in time. It's not like Schultz is dead._

Tony trotted down to that end of the squad room. "Boss, the acting commander of the Anacostia base just called. That scientist who visits the base a lot—Nils Ekerot—has arrived there."

"Fine. You and, uh, Joe—go pick him up for questioning. I want to hear his story."

- - - - -

Ekerot looked quietly confident in the interrogation room. Gibbs' long reading of his face didn't appear to unnerve him at all.

"I still don't understand why you brought me here," said Ekerot, a blond, balding, paunchy man of about 60, wearing glasses and business casual dress. He spoke with a very slight Scandinavian accent. "My papers are all in order. I have been in the US on a work visa since early 2006. It doesn't expire until 2012. I am confident it will be renewed then, if my work here is not finished."

Gibbs looked again at the copy of Ekerot's passport. "H-1B visa. Who do you work for, again?"

"Myself, as I already told you. I conduct my own research."

On the other side of the window, Tony voiced what the others were thinking. "Wrong-o. An H-1B isn't issued for the self-employed." Ziva left to call up Ekerot's visa file.

"What brings you to the Anacostia base so often?" Gibbs asked.

"My specialty is electronics. I obtain permission, now and then, to do studies there."

Gibbs didn't bother asking for details of the studies yet, knowing it would be beyond him and there was no guarantee that Ekerot would be telling the truth. He changed tacks.

"Do you know this man?" He pushed a picture Ekerot's way.

"That's the base commander. Enrique Alvarez. A pleasant person."

"When did you last see him?"

Ekerot thought. "I think I saw him the last time I was on the base, before this…Monday, perhaps?"

"What did you talk about?"

"I don't think I did speak with him. I usually don't."

"Who do you see when you come to the base?"

"One of the supply officers. Several people know me by now. Am I being charged with something, Agent Gibbs?"

"I haven't decided. I'd like to see copies of your studies."

"I'll have to decline that, Agent Gibbs. My work has to be kept highly confidential. My processes are not quite at the patentable stage, yet."

"We'll get a court order, if necessary. Are you aware that Commander Alvarez was kidnapped? It's been in the news."

"I only watch the national TV news. Local news is so…_local _and uninteresting."

"It's been on ZNN, and the other national wires."

"I don't even watch the national news much. I am, ah, not much of a news seeker, outside my field. That is a shame about Enrique Alvarez, however."

"Where were you at 8:20 a.m. Monday?"

"I was…on the base, in the lab. I try to collect data Mondays, then study it for the rest of the week. If you have the base records, you'll see that I most often visit on Mondays."

"What about Tuesday, around 5 p.m.?"

"I would have been in my lab in Maryland. Check the base records, if that concerns you. You will see that today was the first time I have been here since Monday. Can I go now?"

"Not yet. How can we get in touch with you?"

"I am renting a house near Bethesda. Here is the address. I am surprised that you did not get that from the base, You seem to know everything about me."

"Oddly enough, the address the base had on file for you doesn't exist."

"Hmmm. Someone must have written it down wrong."

Gibbs gave him a last, reading look. "All right, Doctor Ekerot. That's all the questions we have for you today. But we may be back in touch."

While Ekerot was being escorted out, Gibbs left the interrogation room with a stony face. "Everything about him is a lie. I can feel it."

"The H-1B visa is genuine," Ziva said, "although it was issued for work with a company called ScannerByStarlight, Inc. That's a shell company, started by Ekerot."

"Figures. What else you got?"

"AFIS is working on a fingerprint match," said Mickey. "I've got a hunch that Ekerot isn't the only name he uses. Ekerot has left too little a trail for someone who's been here for a year and a half."

"Good. Okay, let's—"

"Boss," Tony cut him off. "You didn't ask him about McGee."

"You have work to do, DiNozzo. Get to it."

"_Why didn't you ask him about McGee, boss???"_

Gibbs only turned and walked away, knowing there was nothing he could say that wouldn't risk getting him fired. _And if I get fired, who will lead this group in time to save McGee and Alvarez?_

Joe held Tony back. "It's not you, Tony. He's obviously prevented from saying something. It may be tied into why Klara quit.

Balere nodded. "You want to take your anger out on something, baby? Work on solving this case."

- - - - -

At the living room table, Tim picked at his breakfast eggs and sausages without tasting them. He was afraid to move; afraid that any action would further the hallucinations.

"_Look, girls; he's hardly touched his food."_

"_Oh, the poor dear. What do you suppose we can do?"_

"_Who was that Marta he was mentioning? Maybe she can help."_

_It's not real,_ Tim told himself. _I didn't just hear that_. He hadn't told Alvarez about his latest development; didn't want to add to the commander's troubles. If Alvarez had likewise had any new developments, he hadn't shared them with Tim, either.

Doubts surged through his mind_. What is NCIS doing to find Alvarez? If I could figure that out, then I might be able to plan an escape for us, or at least, for Enrique_… But of course the agency would not make that public.

- - - - -

Gibbs paid a visit to Autopsy, and Ducky was not surprised to see him. "The blood tests aren't back yet, Jethro. I wouldn't expect them before tomorrow at the earliest. I'll log on from home over the weekend, and come in to NCIS if the data does arrive. But that's not why you're here, is it, dear boy?"

"No, Duck," Gibbs said, his arms crossed. "You heard that Klara Schultz quit?"

"Ah, of course. I am not without my resources along the grapevine. I heard she quit after a stormy session in Jennifer's office with you. Does it concern Timothy?"

Seeing Gibbs look around, Ducky said, "Palmer's cleaning out the van. We're alone."

If there was anyone Gibbs would trust, it would be Ducky. "Schultz quit when Jenny all but said that McGee was expendable. Well, technically, she quit after socking Jenny for saying that."

Ducky seemed unruffled by the revelation. "Go on."

"I asked DiNozzo to try to get into McGee's mind, to determine what he might be planning."

"Assuming Timothy and the commander are still alive, Jethro."

"Yeah." Gibbs was silent for a moment. "But we've got to assume they are. I don't think DiNozzo can do this analysis. Maybe the psychosis would throw us off. I need your evaluation."

Sticking his hands in his lab coat pockets, Ducky looked thoughtful. "It's so hard to say, Jethro. I don't know how, or if, the paranoia has progressed. Is he still afraid of us? And if so, more so? Have other symptoms emerged? Alvarez is more than 20 years older than him and may be more debilitated, If so, Timothy may be saddled with caring for him."

"I suspected that. But I need to know this: based on your knowledge of McGee, do you think he has it in him to try to escape?"

"Escape? If Timothy has any rationality left at all, he'll be trying to escape. He's not a quitter. In fact, he's too determined, most of the time. In my opinion. Unless he has a reason that we can't fathom yet; something that's keeping him there."

- - - - -

Again Tim and Alvarez met under the roar of the fan. _At least the fan drowns out the audio hallucinations, _Tim thought.

"I've been thinking of escape plans," said Alvarez, and seeing Tim's nod, went on. "I think it needs to happen sometime while they're taking you out to Nels' lab."

"Right. We'll create an excuse for you to leave the room and get to the first floor. Then you get out the door and run for help."

"What? No! You're a generation younger, and in better shape, and—"

"And I have broken ribs and can't run, remember? There's more, Enrique." Tim's eyes turned sad. "If Nels' plan is to do something really large-scale dangerous, my only way of stopping him is to be on the inside, learning about it. I'm getting close, Enrique. It's something to do with communications systems. I just haven't narrowed it down yet."

Alvarez' eyes measured Tim's face in a way that reminded him of Gibbs. "You need medical treatment. So do I," said Alvarez. "We know we've been infected."

"And I don't know how long I can keep doing this. But what if Nels' plans are almost finished? What if he's ready to launch them in the next week? I've gotta be in there to try to stop him."

"It could kill you. _He _might still be planning to kill you."

"Well…it sounds trite, but this is my job."

He jumped then as he thought he felt a soft hand on his arm. _These hallucinations are becoming far too real. _With a gulp, he turned his head and saw Baking Nell standing there, and he relaxed, but not without first snapping, "Why did you barge in here?!"

"Clever," the 50-ish woman said. "Blocks out the sound. Yes, this room is bugged. Why wouldn't it be?"

"What do you _want_?" Tim asked, though not before taking a cookie from the tin she held.

"You want to escape, don't you, dear?"

They only gawped at her.

"I'm not one of them, not really," she said. "And my name's not Nell."

"No?"

"No. It's Marta."

"_Listen to her, Timmy,"_ Tim heard a soft, female voice say, and other voices murmuring. He looked around the room, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the barely-visible grandmotherly figures.

His Marthes were here.


	12. Klara in Action

After a trip to the grocery store for several bags of coffee beans Friday morning, Klara Schultz leafed through all the printouts Gibbs had brought her late, late the previous night. She was grateful that he had done all that work: an emailed file could be too easily traced, she knew, particularly to her; recently resigned.

As a test, she tried to log onto NCIS from home. _Invalid address,_ her computer showed. _Access denied._ Jen clearly had wasted no time. On the other hand, a team leader—Gibbs—printing out a file would not be noticed at all.

This was not the time to be glib, or sarcastic, or ironic, or foolishly humorous. Lives were at stake here. She didn't know Alvarez well, but she'd jump in to rescue a member or the Navy or the Marines any day, being an old Navy hand herself.

And she'd certainly been a feisty lieutenant; feisty at any rank since her days at OCS. For five years she'd been one of a handful of women who'd lead the charge to open the SEALS program to women, without success. And more than 20 years later, it was still closed to women, irrationally, by a 1994 act of Congress prohibiting women from serving in direct combat roles.

She'd miss seeing the destroyer ship _Barry_ outside the NCIS windows. She'd miss that secret little thrill she got every work day when she arrived at the Navy Yard. But now, it was time to stop reminiscing and go fight again.

Alvarez needed rescuing. So did Tim McGee.

Admittedly, she had a soft spot for the kind-hearted geek. But more than that, she mourned the special agents who'd lost their lives in the line of duty. Too many just out of Washington in the last few years. Paula Cassidy. Jim Nelson. Rick Hall. Kate Todd. Others, too. _No more, please, God._ An idiotic wish; of course; special agents would continue to die. But maybe this one death was within her power to prevent.

_Maryland. _That must be the key to everything. That scientist Ekerot's fake address was there. She suspected he was involved in this somehow, electronics being his field and the fact that he had a high number of visits to the Anacostia base._ We know the Navy staff car was abandoned in Jesup Blair Park, in Silver Spring. And I used to live not 1/4__ mile__ from there…_ She got into her car and started driving north.

- - - - -

Tony sat at his desk, feeling unsettled. The case was progressing far too slowly. _If I were making the decisions, I'd…_

_I'd…_

_I'd be doing something other than riding the desk merry-go-round, that's for sure…_

An idea took root, as he glanced around the squad room. They had Ziva, Gibbs, Joe, Balere and Mickey working. Five people. They could probably get along without him…Hmmm…

Reaching into a drawer, he took out a form SF-71, _Request for Leave_, and with a pen wrote in his request for sick leave for the remainder of the day. The pain showed on his face as he crossed over to Gibbs' desk. "Sorry, boss. That breakfast burrito I had did a number on me."

Gibbs only gave him a glance as he took the slip from him. "Feel better," he said, and went back to work.

- - - - -

Tony only felt a twinge of guilt for the lie as he retrieved his car from the parking garage. _I am still working. Just not under Gibbs' direction…_

Following a hunch, he headed for Highway 29 and Silver Spring.

- - - - -

Klara parked in Jesup Blair Park and scoured the small parking lot. Was anything dropped, any signs of blood, of a struggle? Any time marks, disturbances on the grass, broken tree branches?"

"Have you photographed the scene yet?"

She jumped at the sound of the voice. "Tony! Good Lord, you startled me. What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you, I hope. Looking for McGee and Alvarez."

"Don't tell me you resigned, too!"

He shook his head. "Nah, I told Gibbs I had indigestion and went home 'sick'. I couldn't stand the slow pace of the case. So, did you really quit? Gibbs said you'd resigned, but he wouldn't say why."

"I might as well tell you. I punched out the Director when she said all but said McGee was expendable. In my book, _none_ of our agents are expendable. _Ever_. Full stop. End of story."

Tony gaped at her, then grinned hugely, and shook her hand with vigor. "Thank you, Klara, on so many fronts. Not the least of which is…wow. Punching out Jenny. Wow. That took guts. Did anyone get pictures of that? Wow."

"Why, yes. They're going to be on page 3 of the _New York Times_ tomorrow. Get real, Tony. That impulsive action cost me my job."

"I'm sorry. But, good grief; I'm sure you wouldn't have done it if not really provoked. I hope Jenny will realize the error of her ways and give you your job back…You _will_ take it back, if offered, won't you?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Who's leading my team?"

"Gibbs, for now. He's getting that frazzled high school principal look."

Klara snickered while Tony grinned. "A little stress will be good for him."

He turned serious. "We didn't really go over this area thoroughly on Tuesday; we were more concerned with the abandoned staff car itself. Our mistake. Have you found anything useful?"

"Well, fortunately it hasn't rained since Tuesday, so the ground and the parking lot are pretty much undisturbed. Is this the spot where the car was found?"

"No, over here, on this side of the lot." He thought, visualizing the scene again. "I'm pretty sure it was in this space…no, this one. Lined up with this tree with the heart carved on it."

"Oh, good. So much the better. I looked at this space earlier, but wasn't sure…"

"What did you find?"

"Well, think about it. The car with McGee and Alvarez is driven up. They may be blindfolded; they're certainly handcuffed or restrained in some way. That means you'd want the transfer vehicle in the spot right next to it, or just one spot away. You'd want to make the transfer and get out before anyone sees you."

"Makes sense. So can we tell anything about the transfer vehicle?"

She slowly circled the vacant parking space."It's dark red."

"Now how do you know that?!"

"Someone's left us a clue. I'll bet McGee." She stooped and scooped up a small amount of paint shavings that had been ground into the dirt at the head of the parking space."

"Hmmm. I'm not sure I buy that. Sounds like a long shot. Got anything else?"

"Just my suspicions. Why change cars here? Not this park, so much, but why Silver Spring?"

"You're guessing he's close by. That maybe Silver Spring is his base."

"You know what I'd like to know…"

"Who's leased or bought property here that might be used as a lab," they said together.

"I used to live in Silver Spring. I know where City Hall is." She smiled.

"Let's go!"

- - - - -

"You can help us escape? How?" Alvarez asked the woman they referred to as Baking Nell (although she claimed now that her name was Marta).

"I can open this door, then the front door, and out you go," she said, simply.

"Why would you want to do that, though?"

She looked puzzled. "Because you're being held against your will?"

"But what's in it for you?" asked Alvarez.

She didn't answer for a moment. "Maybe not everyone believes in what Nels is doing."

Tim had been listening closely to her, over the fan's roar. "Your accent doesn't sound quite American. Are you…" he thought, then guessed, "Swedish, like Nels?"

"Yes. I am Swedish state agent Marthe Lindholm. I was sent here to find out what Nels—that isn't his real name, incidentally—is doing. He left his work at the Esrange Space Center, ah, 'under a cloud of suspicion'. He gained his position there under false pretenses."

"What do you think he's doing?"

Her face clouded over. "That's a problem. I don't have the knowledge of electronics, so what I've been learning has gone slowly. I only think it's something shocking, something very dangerous."

"Aren't you jeopardizing your position here by rescuing us?" asked Alvarez.

"Perhaps. But I have notified my parent agency to contact your FBI and close down this operation in a week if they haven't heard from me otherwise. I think Nels certainly must be stopped by then."

"You know that Enrique and I are infected?" Tim said solemnly, studying her face.

"Infected? With what? "

"You really don't know?"

"No."

"You don't know why everyone here is called Nell?"

"No, I admit that is beyond me."

Tim sighed. "Suffice it to say, his experiments, while largely electrical, involve something similar to nanotechnology: electronic circuitry introduced to a human body. That's all I know so far, other than the human host develops psychosis—Enrique and I are in the early stages of that; hallucinating and, in my case, also developing paranoia. And, judging by the first person infected—it results in a gruesome death."

Baking Nell's/Marthe's eyes widened. "You should get medical treatment."

"Help us escape," said Alvarez.

"There is a problem," she said. "I can only get one of you out."


	13. Escape

**Chapter Thirteen: Escape**

- - - - -

"You can only get one of us out," Tim repeated dumbly.

"Yes, I am sorry. The logistics of the escape were something I worked out weeks ago, in case I ever had to get someone out. Figure in the distraction required, and that allows for only one person with me."

Simultaneously, Tim and Alvarez pointed at each other and said, "Take him."

"Tim, no; you're young—"

"—and you have valuable experience," Tim cut the older man off. "No, it makes more sense for me to stay. I'm still trying to get a handle on what Nels is doing." Before Alvarez could protest, Tim asked Marthe Lindholm, "You said, 'take one person with you'. So you can get Enrique out and to safety? Why do I get the feeling that all hell will break lose when you're discovered missing?"

"I do think I know what I'm doing, Agent McGee, so please don't look at me like that," she replied. "I am coming back. My work here is not done yet. I should be able to get the commander out and be back before anyone notices."

"When?"

She took a deep breath. "Now. I am supposed to be on the way to the grocery store. The guard on the side door on this shift is new and stupid; he doesn't know that there are prisoners here and will not question that I take someone with me shopping to carry the bags."

Alvarez turned, clearly of mixed minds. "Tim, I—I—"

"It's okay, Enrique. Really. Don't worry about me; I'm still determined to get out in one piece." Tim forced a smile, wishing he felt as confident as what he was saying.

"I know. And I'll bet you'll do fine. That much said—Tim, please be very careful." Alvarez gripped Tim's hands in his own. There was so much he wanted to say. The shy computer geek had grown on him with his humor and courage. "So long, son. We'll get you out of here before you know it. You have my word on that!"

"Thanks," Tim smiled, though he knew that was not likely to happen. The imprisonment had been bearable only because Alvarez, someone he knew and liked, had been there. "Godspeed." _At least, one of us will get out of this alive. He'll get through to NCIS, and NCIS will tell mom and dad what happened to me…_

As Marthe and Alvarez left, Tim smiled and waved. The smile dropped from his face as soon as their backs were turned. He had never felt so alone.

- - - - -

Tony and Schultz paused for lunch at Burger King; food hot and quick, which suited them. With Tim and Alvarez now missing for three days, they didn't want to waste a moment.

"Let's recap," said Schultz, pulling out her notes. "We have nine properties that have exchanged hands in the last year that appear to be large enough for a lab. We've crossed three off the list. Which one do we want to do next?"

Studying the list, Tony said, "Nothing on here stands out. Let's save time by going for the two that are closest to each other. Let me see your map…okay; these two. West 10th Street and Joy Avenue."

"Sounds good. I hope we hit paydirt soon. If we don't, we need to finish off this list today."

"Why? You got something on tomorrow?"

"No, I just mean I'll try another angle. I'm not giving up."

"I'm not, either," said Tony, and they knocked fists together.

- - - - -

As the agent Baking Nell/Marthe had said, the guard at the front door barely glanced at Marthe and Alvarez as they went out. _Cheap labor?_ Alvarez wondered. If this man had been under his command, Alvarez would have given him a swift kick in the rear.

Acting as nothing was amiss, they got into Marthe's sedan and headed out."Any chance we're being followed?" Alvarez asked, having noticed that Marthe was making a lot of turns.

"There's always a chance…but I have not observed any, ah, tails since I took on this assignment. But just in case, I never take a direct route."

They were silent for a few minutes. Alvarez felt fairly calm; the averaging, perhaps of his delight at being released and his fear of what would happen to Tim. "If you could let me off at the Metro station, I could—"

Marthe suddenly pulled off onto a side street that ran through a scrap of woods at the edge of a housing development, with tennis courts, basketball courts, and a baseball field nearby. The area was deserted, of course; school wouldn't be out for another hour or two. Pulling over to the curb, Marthe parked. "This is where I must drop you. I am sorry. I can't be seen with you.

"What?! Why here?! In the middle of…nowhere!"

"Not exactly. You're only a mile from the town center…which direction that is, is up to you to find out."

Alvarez eyed her. "You're setting me up to fail!"

"No, just delay you a bit, perhaps. Nels has other eyes watching the town. You should try to remain inconspicuous. Here, wear this hat." She handed him an Irish wool tweed hat.

He put it on, grudgingly. "Not really my style."

"Sorry. Go now. Be discrete. And don't hurry back to Washington."

"Don't hurry back?! Why the hell not?! As soon as I can get to a phone, I'm calling NCIS, and—"

"NO!" Quickly she calmed down. "You must not do that!"

"But Tim's life could be in danger!"

"And I have an assignment to complete! Nels must be allowed to continue with his work, at least for another few days. Tim will have to be patient."

"Lady, your priorities are seriously twisted! I am not going to let Tim suffer, as is sure to happen once I'm found to be missing! Now I'm sure you mean well, and I do thank you for getting me out. But I have to do what I feel is right. If you're not going to shut down this idiotic operation now_, I will! Goodbye!"_

"No, you're not!" she cried, and to his astonishment, she drew out her gun, and fired.

- - - - -

Tony held up a hand: _Stop. Listen_. Voices, a man's and a woman's. "Alvarez. I'd bet Gibbs' first cup of coffee of the day on it." They had just gotten out of the car to visit the house on Joy Avenue.

"Yeah. Over this little rise, I think." They hustled, quietly; Tony with his gun drawn; Klara with a knife from her personal collection.

"_But I have to do what I feel is right. If you're not going to shut down this idiotic operation now, I will! Goodbye!"_

"_No, you're not!"_

Tony swore under his breath,.In time to witness, they were; not in time to prevent. They saw Alvarez go down, and the woman-shooter walk over to him with ease, appearing, maybe, ready to dispatch him.

"No you don't!" Schultz yelled, and tackled the surprised woman, sending her gun flying. Tony tossed her his handcuffs, which Schultz slapped on the woman.

"He's still alive," Tony said, kneeling beside Alvarez, "but it doesn't look good. Gut wound, and at his age…"

"Yeah, yeah; all of us over-50s should just curl up and die. Or retire, which is almost the same thing," Schultz snarled, pulling out her cell phone. "Hello, 911. I need an ambulance at, uh, Pheasant Lane, by the baseball diamond. A man has been shot…"

Tony pressed down on the wound. Alvarez looked terrible, and his breathing was increasingly bad. _How in the world did Alvarez get out here? Who's this woman? And has she already killed McGee?_ He shook with fear at the thought.


	14. Shooter

**Chapter Fourteen: Shooter**

**- - - - -**

Tony was in the hospital waiting room when Gibbs and Jenny rushed in. _Dang. Jenny. Why did she have to come??_ He knew the answer. Commander Alvarez was still big news; and as NCIS Director, Jenny had to be at the forefront…but still. Tony almost wished he hadn't had to call Gibbs, but of course, he did. This wouldn't go over well at all when Schultz—guarding their captive woman in Tony's car—came into the picture.

He quickly briefed them on Alvarez, who was still in surgery.

"But how did this happen?" asked Jenny, numbly, and the fear—probably of the SECNAV's reaction—clearly showed on her face. "Do you know who shot him?"

"You're amazingly on the spot for someone who went home sick, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, giving him a sour look. "So we have Alvarez. Do you know where McGee is?" he added with a glance at Jenny, but she didn't react.

Tony took a deep breath. "I don't know how it came to happen. I don't know where McGee is—I didn't have a chance to talk to Alvarez before he was shot. I only came upon him when this happened. And yes, I know who shot him. We have her in custody. She's outside, in my car."

"You have the shooter?" Jenny gasped. "Why didn't you say so??"

"And what do you mean by 'we'?" Gibbs asked in a low, menacing tone.

"I'll show you." Tony bit back the sigh.

He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He really didn't want Schultz to get into more trouble, but he also knew that he couldn't withhold evidence, which was what concealment would be. With a jolt, he realized Schultz would have been aware of this all along. Yet she played her role, without telling him; she would make sure that their prisoner didn't get away, despite inevitably becoming discovered herself—all because she was a responsible person; still doing the special agent job that she no longer had.

Schultz glanced their way as they came up to the car, and she then got out of the car. "Klara," said Jenny, in a tone that dripped with ice.

"She's all yours, Jenny," said Schultz, sounding aloof, unconcerned. "My part is done, and so, I am out of here." She turned and headed for the cab stand.

"Schultz!" Jenny snapped. "You need to come in and make your statement."

"I don't work for you anymore, Jenny. Tony was there and saw everything I did."

"I can _make you_ come in."

"I'll compromise with you. I'll come in tomorrow morning. I'm busy right now. Sorry about your sick day, Tony," she added with a glance at him.

He shrugged it off. Tony felt hurt on her behalf, knowing how much she really did care. Still, it took a lot of stubbornness for Schultz to resist coming into NCIS to make a statement. _Unless she's up to something…_

…_she's going to go back and look for McGee!_ Dang her. Unless the woman had been working alone, her accomplices were also likely armed. Schultz was walking into a dangerous situation, and totally against NCIS policy, she was going into it alone.

Schultz, he felt, had too much respect for living to be doing a suicide mission, and such a mission had too little chance of paying off for McGee. No, she must think she knew what she was doing. Not that that made it any less risky.

Gibbs was talking to him. He'd be riding back in Tony's car with Tony and the prisoner; Jenny, who brought Gibbs along with her to the hospital, would wait at the hospital for word on Alvarez for awhile, and then drive back by herself. Tony was glad for that. If Jenny had a lot of invective to spill about Schultz, he didn't want to hear it.

The ride south to the Navy Yard was mostly silent. The woman prisoner sat silently, as did Gibbs. It was only at the parking lot, where waiting security people took the woman away, that Gibbs spoke. "She going to continue looking for McGee?"

Tony half smiled. "You know her better than I do, boss. You tell me."

Gibbs looked away. "Dang fool woman. We have to deal with the prisoner. I can't send either you or me to go help her, for awhile."

"Ziva lives in Silver Spring."

"But it's you she's built the rapport with; not Ziva. Knowing Schultz, she's going to be proud and a little skittish about working with anyone from NCIS. Tell you what: You write out your statement and watch the interrogation, and then get out of here. Leave and take care of your…whatever you said you had for breakfast that made you sick."

- - - - -

Gibbs let the prisoner cool her heels in holding while NCIS tried to determine who she was. The woman hadn't been carrying a purse, but had had car keys in her jacket pocket when she was apprehended. She must have driven Alvarez to the park where she had shot him, so her car must be near there. Balere and Joe, from Schultz' team, were dispatched to Silver Spring to find and retrieve the car—without being told of Schultz' involvement. (In fact both of them gave Tony an eyeballing as they left the squad room, as if they'd determined that something didn't add up.)

Ziva, however, found a fingerprint match on AFIS. "Marthe Lindholm," she announced as Gibbs, Tony, and Mickey (Schultz' third team member) looked on as she then called up the Immigration record. "Swedish citizen, born in Göteborg. Age 54. Her visa type is—uh oh." The program had suddenly closed: _Access denied._

"We got someone sensitive," Mickey remarked. "Wonder who will drop by to spring her, or take her away in leg irons?"

- - - - -

Gibbs left Mickey, who was clever with computers (though not in Tim's league), to try to get more information on Lindholm without hacking, just yet. Mickey requested and was granted Abby's help in the search.

Jenny returned then, looking tired and downcast. "He's still in surgery," she said. "It could be hours yet. They'll call us. The SECNAV has gone done there, and brought some people to wait with him.

_And you feel superfluous,_ Gibbs thought, but didn't say it. He still wasn't feeling forgiving toward Jenny yet. "I was about to start interrogating our prisoner," he said. "Want to watch?"

- - - - -

"You can make a statement now, Ms. Lindholm, or you can go back and sit in the holding tank. Your choice," said Gibbs calmly, reading her features and her movements. _Oh, she's good. Looks as wholesome as Betty Crocker, but she's got nerves of steel, whoever she is,_ he thought,

On the other side of the interrogation room mirror, Jenny asked, "Who _is_ she?"

Both Ziva and Tony, standing with her, winced, knowing that perhaps they should be doing more to solve this instead of watching the interrogation. Nonetheless, they were drawn to the spectacle of the woman who'd shot the commander…and the woman who could, as few could, resist Gibbs' stern technique. "Marthe Lindstrom," said Tony.

"Lindholm," Ziva corrected.

"Lindholm. That's all we know…so far."

"And why aren't you finding out more about her?" Jenny asked crisply.

"Mickey and Abby are trying to get around firewalls," Tony said. "Someone's gone out of her way to protect her identity."

"Someone…here? In our government?"

"Don't know yet, Director. I'm, uh, just sticking around until Gibbs is done to make my statement, and then I'll head back home." Tony put a hand on his stomach and tried to look a little green.

"You do that," Jenny said, after a sharp look, then walked out when her cell phone rang.

Gibbs continued with Lindholm. "You're Swedish, right?" She didn't answer.

"Would you like me to call the Swedish embassy and notify them that you're being held?"

There. Just a flicker of concern, and as fast as it had come, it was gone.

"She is not on good terms with her government," remarked Ziva. "Perhaps she is wanted."

"I am sure you have the wrong person, for whatever you think I've done," said Lindholm, calmly.

"We have witnesses who saw you shoot a US Navy commander," Gibbs said calmly, but with a sharp edge in his voice.

"It must have been someone else," the woman said. "Now, please, let me go. I have to get back to my work."

"What work is that?"

"I am a research scientist. My visa is limited to six months, so any delay here takes away from my work time."

Gibbs considered, looking to the side for a minute or two. Then he leaned in more closely, his eyes dark. "We have Alvarez back. Now where are you keeping Tim McGee?"

"Who?"

Despite his sternest look, the woman was not about to break down.

"She has been well-trained," said Ziva. "Definitely either a professional assassin, or else a spy.

Tony looked at his watch. Almost 3 o'clock. He was suddenly even more worried for Schultz. If Lindholm was a trained assassin, then she was likely associated with a group of similar people. Schultz would be walking into a minefield. "Tell Gibbs I'm not feeling well and went home. Tell him I'll make my statement tomorrow."

"Tony! You cannot just—" But as she was speaking to his fleeing back, it did no good.

- - - - -

Tim, in the "in-law" apartment, grew more and more nervous as time passed. Marthe Lindholm should have been back within an hour, if she were doing a convincing grocery-shopping run in town (whichever town it was they were in). It had been almost three hours now. Something must have happened.

_I hope Enrique got away okay…maybe Baking Nell decided to flee with him._ He smiled faintly, thinking on how the two were about the same age. Stranger attractions had happened.

Soon afterwards, though, Nels himself entered the apartment. "One of my assistants, Nell—tall, with dark hair? About 50?—went to the grocery store and has not come back. Do you know anything about it, Agent McGee?"

"Why would I know? I don't know who does your shopping."

Nels looked around. "Where is the commander?"

"In the can, I think. He was having a little …indigestion," Tim said, making a face and pretending to waft an odor away.

Nels looked thoughtful. "Well, if you see Nell, send her up to me."

"I'll be sure to do that. Are we having another lab session today?"

Nels appeared almost sympathetic, but it was broken by a smile. "No, Agent McGee, I think we have had the last session. If my studies are correct, by tomorrow you should be so in the grips of psychosis that you will no longer retain any learning."

He went out, and the door's tumblers clicked with the familiar sounds. Tim sank onto the couch. _If tomorrow's the day it all falls apart, I have nothing left to lose. Tomorrow's the day when I'll take on Nels._


	15. Blood on the Hands

**Chapter Fifteen: Blood on the Hands**

- - - - -

Tony drove as fast as he could get away with; worried that he'd lost too much time already. Little bits of his conversations with Schultz today came back at him, like stings of dust carried by wind. _All of us over-50s should curl up and die_, he remembered her saying. Briefly he wondered if she could have meant that in a suicide mission-sense. _Nah; that's not like Schultz at all. She's too practical for that…Though with her job gone, she might just feel she has nothing left to lose…_

Pulling into Jesup Blair park in Silver Spring, he was surprised to find that Schultz' car was still there. That could have meant that she was walking around the area. _Or that she's already in trouble…_

- - - - -

"No, Tony; Joe and Balere have not returned yet," Ziva said on the phone. "They called in about five minutes ago; said they were done processing the car and were waiting for our towing service. I thought you were ill and going home."

He ignored that last bit. "Did they find anything interesting?"

"They did not mention anything. We will have to wait for Abby to go over the car."

Tony hung up with a sigh. It was too much to hope for there to be an obvious clue to McGee, like a copy of Deep Six on the back seat. He didn't want to think about Abby finding things like blood in the car. Particularly if it turned out to be McGee's blood.

_But if she was working for his kidnappers, and dispatched the commander, why couldn't she have done so to McGee as well?_

_And if she has—and Abby matches the blood—I'm not sure I want to be at NCIS then._

_I hope this Lindholm woman didn't work alone. I'm really in a mood to pound someone. _He normally didn't pay much attention to these threatening thoughts. They were usually just bluster.

Still, there was a first time for everything. Especially if they'd hurt McGee.

Schultz had kept the notes they'd made on the recent real estate transactions in Silver Spring that might point to places where Alvarez and McGee could have been held. Again he tried her phone, but again it went over to voice mail. Did she use an NCIS-issued phone? Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she had turned her cell phone in, or left it at home.

"Yes, Tony-who-is-not-really-home-sick. You have reached your remaining teammate, who is doing the work of three. How can I help you?"

"No one likes a wise ass, Ziva." He realized too late how that sounded, considering his past, even before Ziva's hoots of laughter. "I need Klara's personal cell phone number. Can you pull it up for me?"

She accessed Klara's employee file (the general portion, viewable by all personnel) and gave him the number listed. "Tony…do not do anything stupid," she added.

"No more than I ever do," he said cheerfully, and hung up, then dialed Schultz' personal number. It, too, went to voice mail. He tried it again, but there was still no answer.

Now he was officially worried.

- - - - -

Tim was brought a mid-afternoon snack by one of the other Nells; a 30ish woman with dishwater blond hair, long and thick. "Agent McGee? I wasn't sure of what you'd like. Here's some iced tea and strawberry shortcake."

"That looks yummy. Thanks," he said, taking the tray from her and setting it on the coffee table. She smiled at him and left, locking the door behind her.

With a feeling of some despair, Tim turned off the fan that they'd had running for the last few days. There was no conversation to hide now. He sat down, and one of his Marthes scooted over to make more room for him on the couch. "That looks delightful, dear," she said to him, "only I'm trying to watch my figure. You'll pardon me if I stay away from temptation."

"Sure," he said politely, and dug in. What else could one say to a spirit who wasn't really there?

As he ate, trying to tune out the older ladies who perched at the edge of his vision, he thought. _Nels hasn't come down on me yet for Baking Nell's absence…and believed that tripe I gave him about Enrique. He's either really busy or denser than a stone._

_I only had Baking Nell's word that it was hard to escape. Maybe it's easier than she let on._

But there was still the matter of his quest to find out what Nels was up to. If he escaped now, it would be a purely selfish act. _No, I owe it to my job to get the goods on Nels, so we can shut his operation down before anyone else gets hurt._

How to do this, though? Nels seemed to think he'd outlived his usefulness…'Outlived'. Now there was an interesting word. Did this mean that Nels was about to kill him? Or perversely watch him die a horrible death, like Lt. Dawn Peskarev's that had started all this back at Anacostia, in front of witnesses, days ago?

_I am not going to die without a fight._ There. He'd said it to himself. Now to make that happen.

With simple kitchen implements he had enough devices to undo the lock system on the door. After about five minutes' work, he opened the door slowly. The hallway was empty.

Confidently he strolled along it, headed for the second floor. He remembered a nugget from his FLETC classes: _Don't want to be noticed? Act like you belong where you are._ And he should indeed be able to get away with it without much effort. People were used to seeing him in the halls, on his way to or from Nels' lab. Sometimes he had had guards as escorts; yesterday he went alone, with only someone nearby to lock or unlock the doors.

He climbed the stairs to the lab, and surprised the Japanese-American Nell who was one of Nels' assistants. "Agent McGee? I wasn't told you were coming up this afternoon."

"I'm bored out of my mind," Tim improvised. "There's nothing good on TV right now."

"Oh. Well, let me see if Dr. Johansson has something for you to do." She went into the main lab, leaving Tim alone in the outer lab area. He quickly took advantage of his freedom, poking into things, and managed to look bland and bored when the Nell came back out.

"What did he say?" asked Tim.

"He says that if you'd like, you can look over the circuit diagrams, to see if you can spot any errors. The doctor's work is too important for him to fuss with such details, yet he knows that someone must do it, so the project doesn't fall apart before it gets started."

"Sure. No problem." A day or two ago Tim wouldn't have felt so confident, but either he'd learned a lot (possible) or increasing mental illness had made him overly confident (more likely). He didn't much care, as long as it gave him an in with Nels.

- - - - -

Jenny sat in her office with the door closed, and directions to Cynthia to not put through anyone short of the level of the SECNAV. Her hands trembled as she poured bourbon into the glass. Being convinced that she had kept up a stoic front before the SECNAV, before his aides, before Gibbs and the rank-and-file agents did not make her feel any better right now.

_I have blood on my hands._

Without initial thought she did look at her nicely-maintained hands; the nails cut and colored precisely. No blood there, but she thought she could see it nonetheless.

_I have blood on my hands._

Timothy McGee's blood. What had she become that she would sell her soul to the devil? For a little job security, for a chance to placate droning reporters, and the SECNAV, even?

She thought back on her days as a simple agent, when she would have been _outraged_ if a superior had done what she had done: abandoned one of her people, probably condemned him to death for political expediency. That was not the way NCIS was supposed to operate. They rescued their people in danger. They did everything they could do.

_NCIS is a family, _she'd often said. It was a damn poor situation if the family matriarch didn't act like a leader and protector.

Downing the bourbon and pouring herself another, she phoned Gibbs. "Jethro, leave control of the Lindholm woman to Frawley's team when they come on the evening shift. This is a change of plans. Put all of your people, including Klara's team, on finding McGee."

"You found your heart, Jen," Gibbs said softly. "Congratulations."

"Oh, get on with you," she said gruffly, and hung up, hoping this wasn't too late.

- - - - -

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm coming!!" The stout little Nell called by the others _Harried Nell_ ran to open the front door. They didn't get many visitor-type visitors, but there were always deliveries for the lab. Since most of her work was done on the first floor, she was often the one to answer the door.

"Yes, delivery for Dr. Johansson—oh, sorry. You're not making a delivery, are you?"

The salt-and-pepper haired woman smiled up at her, encouragingly; secretly glad that she'd tucked away in her car a dress to change into. "The employment agency said that Dr. Johannson might have openings for lab assistants. My name is Klara."


	16. Converging on the House

**Chapter 16 – Converging on the House**

- - - - -

_I knew this had to be the place, _Klara thought as she was lead into the office of Dr. Johansson's personnel manager/bookkeeper. _I watched three deliveries of heavy equipment and electronics made here in 90 minutes. Here, to a quiet-looking suburban house._

The young woman with spiky blue hair, 1950s rhinestone-rimmed glasses, and attire Abby would admire, got up from her desk and extended a hand for a shake. "Hi, I'm Nell," she said, smiling. "You're here about a position?"

"If you have one open. I understand you're expanding. I was just downsized from my job and am looking for work," said Klara, mentally wincing because the science classes she'd taken in college had been _so_ long ago. Armstrong had only walked on the moon a few years before. This child might not know who he was. Klara tried to will forgiveness into her mind.

"Let me go talk with Dr. Johansson for a moment. Won't you have a seat? And can I bring you something? Coffee? Water? Tea?"

"Coffee would be wonderful, thank you. Cream, and one sugar, please."

"Sure thing. Be right back."

Nell touched Klara's shoulder briefly as she went by, and the same odd feeling washed through Klara that had happened when they shook hands. It was indescribable. She started thinking. _Now if this house is where they had Alvarez, then McGee might still be here. I've _got to_ search this place…_

- - - - -

Tim went over the circuit diagrams, glad to see that he did understand them a little better now than he had days ago. Still, he found it a bit hard to concentrate. The room seemed warm, and not just because it was getting late afternoon sun—curtains mostly kept that away. The occasional Nell who came in seemed to be floating as she walked. Tim shook his head. _The psychosis must be starting._ He hated to think of that, of all his talents (which he admitted were outweighed by his shortcomings), he valued his keen mind the most. To lose it to a horrible illness—the thought terrified him. _Even if I get out of this place, if I can't be cured, I may need a caretaker for the rest of my life…How will it be when I recognize only a few people, and don't trust even them?_

_Diode, capacitor, inductor, nor gate, xor gate_..._what exactly is Johansson building?? _He looked at it again and again, and a horrible feeling came over him.

The diagram, labeled _Serendipity,_ showed a large device that looked like it might be a weapon.

If it was, then Tim knew he had a greater obligation than ever to try to shut Johansson down.

- - - - -

"Thanks so much for your interest…" _We'll let you know if something suitable opens up_—Klara already knew that line was coming. She wasn't expecting to hear, "When can you start?"

Klara smiled. "Now, I guess."

"Now? Oh, well, that's awesome!" said blue-haired Nell. "Let me take you up to Dr. Johansson's lab."

- - - - -

Gibbs tore up the highway to Silver Spring; Ziva and Mickey riding with him in the NCIS truck. Mickey had called Balere and Joe; Ziva, Tony; they would all rendezvous at the park where Alvarez had been shot.

"I wish you would have told us about Klara this morning, Gibbs," Joe scolded lightly when they met. "I feel we've lost valuable time here."

"I didn't know it was going to come to this," said Gibbs, "and I didn't have authorization to look for McGee then. Let's cut the talk and get to work. DiNozzo, where were you and Schultz looking? Where do you think she is now?"

Tony swallowed. "We'd gotten a list of properties that had recently changed hands, and were going by that. The trouble is, Schultz has our notes on that; not me."

Ziva smiled. "Have you forgotten that I live here in Silver Spring? Since I dream of owning a house someday, I go through the real estate section of the Sunday news paper thoroughly, and commit much of it to memory."

"Do tell," Tony said, smiling now.

- - - - -

Nels looked at Tim skeptically as he entered the lab's outer office. "You have nothing better to do, Agent McGee?"

"Nope," said Tim, not looking up.

"I still can't allow you access to a computer, with your skills, but I am willing to provide you with paper and a pen. In case you have any…farewell notes you want to write to family or friends. While your mind is still lucid."

_You bastard. _Tim managed to keep his face expressionless. "No, thanks; I'm good."

Nels ran a hand through his hair. "Another strange American expression. What are you good at? No, don't tell me; I'm not _that_ interested." He walked back into his lab.

_Score one for our team._ Tim smiled to himself, and then sobered. _He's either convinced that I will be losing my mind, or he's trying to convince me of it._

_I feel totally lucid so far. Let's think this through…_

_Suppose he's telling the truth. What harm, then, could come of me working in the lab? Doesn't make sense._

_If he's _not_ telling the truth, is he afraid that I'll discover what he's up to? And maybe get away, like Enrique? Does he know Enrique's gone? Will he take that out on me?_

_At this point, I guess it's too much to hope that anyone would be trying to find me…_

A surge of hope went through him. _Enrique! He'll contact NCIS; tell them where we were being held, and then…_

Just as quickly, his hopes were dashed. _They won't come. Gibbs, Ducky and all are probably still really mad at me for messing up the evidence around Lt. Peskarev's body. I am in so much trouble over that…_Then he wondered if this was just the paranoia talking. _Shut up, paranoia._

- - - - -

Shortly thereafter, Tim looked up briefly as a new person entered his peripheral vision. There were four Nells who regularly were in and out of the lab, he knew, but just about any Nell might be up here at one time or another. He did a double take, and almost fell off his chair.

_Schultz!!_

Immediately he resumed his tired, bored look. Schultz was being guided by that blue-haired bookkeeper Nell. Her gaze swept the room, but she gave no sign of recognizing him. _Still, why else would she be here if not for me? Enrique must have reached NCIS! And Klara got in here undercover! The others may be close by!_ The Nell lead Schultz back out.

This made him more determined than ever to crack this case. _If only I could get 15 minutes at a computer, I could look up what these circuit connections likely mean…_

- - - - -

Jenny hung up her phone and let out the relieved sigh she'd been holding in. The SECNAV would do the press conference to announce the finding of Alvarez; her presence was _not required_. Right now, she didn't much care if there was a rebuke in that or not.

_What to do about Klara?_ Just because the team leader had turned in her firearm and her badge didn't mean squat. Jenny hadn't had time to do any paperwork yet, whether as resignation or termination of employment. She didn't want to do it now, either. She wanted her team leader back, even if they'd have to go through words over Klara's ko-ing Jenny. _You don't throw away good personnel just because you disagree with them. You learn to work around your differences._

Perhaps the hardest part was in admitting that Klara had been right. Jenny should have stood up for McGee just as much as she had stood up for Alvarez. The SECNAV knew this. Deep down, Jenny had known this all along. McGee was important. _All_ her people were important. McGee might be key to the Persian Gulf operation that was coming up within the next year; that was part of why she'd been teaching him the Arabic card game _Basra_. He'd need not just to know it, but to be very, very good at it. 

So far he'd been a quick study, and would soon surpass her knowledge. Then she'd have to call in a local expert to continue his studies. _But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, we have to rescue McGee. If he's still alive…_

Cynthia buzzed her on the intercom. "Director, I've tried Agent Schultz' work and personal cell phones, several times. No answer on either."

Jenny frowned, and covered her eyes with one hand. _She must have gone back to look for McGee. I hope she hasn't gotten herself in a hole…_ "Try again in an hour, please, Cynthia."

"Yes, Director."

Drumming her fingers on her desk, Jenny thought and then called Gibbs. "Jethro, while you're looking for McGee, keep an eye out for Klara, too."

She could almost hear his grin. "Her employment hasn't been terminated?"

"No, not yet. If she gets herself into trouble, I don't want to have to argue with the insurance company as to whether she was covered or not at the time. It's much easier just to have her stay covered."

"Good thinking." Now there was an audible smirk. "We're in Silver Spring, tracking leads. So far nothing yet, but we'll let you know."

- - - - -

"Nils Ekerot is Swedish. Our shooter, Marthe Lindholm, is Swedish," said Balere. "I don't believe in coincidences."

"The, uh, Swedish embassy isn't located in Silver Spring, I take it?" asked Tony. "That could explain a concentration—well, two—Swedes in this town. If this is where Ekerot is."

Mickey checked his blackberry. "Nope. M Street NW."

Ziva hung up her phone. "The Montgomery County assessor's office has no record of a Nils Ekerot, as a land owner, a taxpayer, etc. However…I did ask the nice lady about recent property transactions, and one not too far from here was to a Nels Johansson. I believe that name to be Swedish."

"Dual identity?" Gibbs wondered, and his cell phone flew to his ear to ask Abby to find out anything she could about said individual.

Joe looked dubious. "I _do_ believe in coincidences. Over 70,000 people live in Silver Spring; it's not at all unlikely that a handful or more are Swedes."

"We'll stake out the house while we're waiting for Abby's reply," said Gibbs. "Joe, Balere; you two do that. Don't move in, though, without my say-so. We don't want to tip them off. Mickey, Ziva; canvas the town. Show Ekerot's picture around. DiNozzo—you're with me. Let's see if we can get a visual on the house from the street behind it. We'll stake out the house from the rear."

- - - - -

The sun lowered, and Tim got up to draw the blinds against the rays. No one was watching him, and he took a quick peek out the window. _Suburbs. Where, I wonder?_ All he could see was large lawns, tall houses, and what looked like a church steeple. _All towns look alike,_ he thought, and let the blinds flap against the windows.

"Agent McGee?"

"Um, yes?" Tim turned quickly at the voice. It was a grumpy-looking woman, who really wasn't that grumpy at all, he'd learned.

"It's dinnertime, Agent McGee. Would you like to eat in your apartment, or up here, so you can continue to work?"

"Up here, please."

Grumpy Nell managed what, for her, passed for a smile, and went away. In ten minutes she was back with a tray with roast beef, green beans, and potatoes, with a slice of apple pie for desert.

All of the other Nells, and Nels, too, were gone…they must all eat at the same time. Tim found himself alone in the outer office. He was pretty sure no one was in the lab itself. Were there any cameras spying on him? Unlikely; Nels had seemed genuinely surprised when Tim had come up the stairs to the lab. _He must be confident in his outer security. And must trust his workers._

As quietly as possible, Tim crossed the floor and entered the lab. The lights were low, and sure enough, no one was present. Tim dived for the first computer her saw. It was password protected. _Nell;_ he typed, and he was in. Just like that. _He's way over-confident,_ Tim thought with a smile.

He typed in the particulars of what he could interpret from the circuit diagram, and found a file on the computer.

It was in, apparently, Swedish.

He hadn't intended to go on the 'net; he knew he'd be too tempted to contact NCIS, and he didn't have time for that. Besides, Schultz' presence meant they were on to Johansson anyway. But he needed to know what the file said. Copying a few paragraphs; he tried an available translation program. It was rudimentary, though, and choked on the transmission.

Nervously, he checked his watch. _Seven minutes gone by already…_ In desperation, he turned to a source he knew could do the job. NCIS was permitted by the National Security Agency to use their powerful translation resources. He got into NCIS, and then figuratively hurled the paragraphs at the resource.

The answer came back in under a second.

_This is the model for prototype number 6 of the Bio-Electrical Override Device. It will be able to eliminate communications over a vast distance. The BEOD is augmented by the use of tiny capacitors in a human operator's body..._

"Dear," the voices were scarcely more than whispers. "You mustn't linger here." "They'll catch you. Oh, do hurry; they're on their way back now."

"Thanks," Tim murmured to the two Marthes, who were barely visible. He deleted his work from the computer and closed it down, slipping back into the outer office just in time to put a forkful of pie in his mouth as two of the Nells came in.

_Well, now I know some of it.. There is a weapon, and I'm part of the operating plan._

_So if it's to be used before I'm full-blown psychotic, or dead like Peskarev, it'll happen tomorrow or the next day..._


	17. In Johansson's Lair

**Chapter 17: In Johansson's Lair**

**- - - - -**

"Trouble, Pete?" Jenny looked up when Pete Jenkowski, sitting in for the vacationing head of MTAC, was ushered into her office by Cynthia.

"I don't really know, Director." The man removed his glasses and scratched his forehead. "It could be. I wanted to show you what came in a little while ago." He handed her a few sheets of paper.

"Tell me what I'm looking at."

"Yes, Director. Someone tapped into one of our systems remotely. Specifically, they went for our translator database; the Swedish portion. We captured the paragraphs submitted for translation. It describes the system for—"

" '…capacitors in a human operator's body.'" Jenny read aloud. "The Peskarev case! That must have been McGee, either looking for information or else signaling us!"

"I doubt he would signal us, Ma'am. He doesn't have the clearance to know what sets off alarms here."

Jenny snorted. "No, but he's bright enough to guess. Still, I'll grant that he mostly hacked in for the translation, for his own purposes. Were you able to pinpoint the site of transmission?"

"Yes, ma'am. Got the IP address and we automatically did a signal trace. He was connected for seven minutes; plenty of time to locate it."

"Well, where, man; where?? Lives are at stake here!" Jenny rose and stared him down.

"It looks like it's on Greco Lane in Silver Spring, in the 200 number block—"

Jenny was already calling Gibbs. At last, they had a break in the case.

- - - - -

Gibbs clicked his phone to end the call and almost smiled. "That's our house, all right." He promptly called Joe while Tony called Ziva. This was the house.

They rendezvoused on a side street, after leaving Mickey to watch the house, outfitted with an Earwig. "We have to assume that the house is well-armed, and its occupants not above a touch of self-demolition, if it comes to it," said Joe.

"You mean, they'll all blow themselves up…along with anyone else who's in there," said Tony, not liking the sound of it.

"I think he's right, unfortunately." Gibbs shook his head. "We can't just knock on the door. Too dangerous."

"Should we get a warrant?" asked Balere. Seeing his glare, she turned back to the truck. "And I shouldn't have to ask, I know. I'll get right on it."

"Gibbs…"

Gibbs cupped his ear. "Yeah, Mickey."

"I got binoculars on one of the back windows. I can see Klara clearly, standing there, at a second-floor window, looking out."

"Does she see you?"

"I doubt it. I'm in a lot of shade, and 40 feet away."

"Let us know if anything changes." Frowning, Gibbs addressed the rest of his double-sized team. "Mickey has positively placed Schultz as being in the house. That's a second person we're going to have to rescue. A second variable." Even one variable was problematic enough.

- - - - -

Tim felt a little drowsy after eating. He often did here; the food was abundant, and good. He was probably eating too much, though he reasoned that a weight gain should be the least of his worries.

"I think I'll go down to the apartment," Tim said to one of the Nells; a cute young brunette with large grey eyes.

She looked at him with only mild interest. "All right, Agent McGee," she said with a faint smile, and turned back to what she was doing in the lab outer office.

Tim pursed his lips and left, a little puzzled. That Nell was close to his own age, and the cutest in that age range. He'd thought his tone had been mildly flirtatious; that was how he intended it, anyway. But he'd gotten no response from her. _Am I that hideous?_

He went down the stairs, the circuit diagram (and a few other interesting papers he'd found) tucked under his shirt. _So what if Johansson finds them missing? What's he going to do—kill me?_

In the apartment he went into the bathroom (where no bugs or cameras had been found), pulled out the papers, and looked at them carefully. They were in a mixture of Swedish and English…the sign of an unbalanced mind? Or was he sharing information with someone who might not speak Swedish? He traced the connector lines with a finger.

It didn't really add up. Then he remembered what the translation had given him. A human operator was involved. A human, or maybe not-so-human-anymore operator. Needed to…

Needed to…

If the aim was to eliminate communications, was this like an electrical pulse? That seemed unlikely; this appeared to be a limited-range weapon or device that had to get close to a target to be effective; if an e-pulse were involved, the pulse would neutralize the weapon. So there was some other method of initiating destruction.

Suppose the aim was to get it into a secure space, like a federal building or military base. There would be some inspection of items brought in. If this thing was designed to look innocuous—or had an innocuous shell—it wouldn't get more closely examined than anything else going through the x-ray scanners. That meant a minimum of electronics inside. But it would then have to get its power from somewhere else.

Like the tiny circuits and capacitors and such growing inside him; dooming him.

That was Johansson's project: to bring a human host to the point of bio-electronic growth that they could carry out his plan of destruction. Linking the device somehow, physically, to the once-human host, once inside the place. Poor Lt. Peskarev had been the first test subject, and a failure; the electro-organisms had grown too fast and killed her too soon.

Tim and Alvarez had unwittingly become test subjects two and three by handling Peskarev's body. They hadn't died yet, but their systems were going downhill. _At least I think we're two and three…what if there was another subject infected before us; one that we don't know about? Maybe even more than one?_

Swallowing, he dismissed that thought. He felt sorry for anyone else who might have been caught up in this, but there was nothing he could do for them at the moment.

What could the target be? There were probably hundreds, if not thousands, of strategically important sites in greater Washington, from the Pentagon to the Washington Nationals ballpark when a game was playing. Since Tim had no idea, the only sensible plan was to stop the mission before it ever left this house.

_I've got to get Johansson to let me work more closely with him .Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to learn about this and stop it. And I can't let Schultz stop me._

- - - - -

At that moment, Klara was in the kitchen, helping the others chop veggies and prepare food for tomorrow. She had volunteered for that, and the other two women seemed faintly glad for her help. They kept a mild, inoffensive conversation going.

Klara hadn't been surprised to hear that their name of each of them was Nell. That seemed to be the name of all the women here. _Okay…so Ekerot/Johansson has a thing for women named Nell. I've seen crazier. Next topic._ She was struck by the mild, almost bland charm of each one she'd met. Even the Nell with the blue hair and the hip dress seemed like a toned-down twenty-something. _Maybe he's running a cult here. Remember to not drink any Kool-Aid._

"Is this how you normally spend your evenings, you two?" she asked at one point. "Preparing meals for the next day?" The question was partly conversational and partly to get a feel for the job duties. She'd thought everyone in the household had gathered at the same time for dinner, and at that point, she'd counted twelve Nells.

The taller of the two Nells turned that light smile on her. "Oh, not usually. One of us Nells goes grocery shopping twice a week. And I thought she was to do so today, but there was no fresh food when I looked in the fridge today. So I guess she'll go tomorrow."

"Did she say why she didn't go?"

"I don't think we asked her, did we, Nell?" asked the shorter, skinnier Nell.

"No, Nell, I don't think we did." She seemed unconcerned.

"What does she look like? Was I sitting next to her at dinner?" Klara pressed, a hunch forming.

The skinny one considered. "No, you were sitting between Nell and Nell," she said, as if that explained it all. "Nell is relatively tall, about your age, black hair."

"Okay, thanks." _Marthe Lindholm. And they haven't figured out yet that she's way overdue. And that she took Alvarez with her. Unless…assassinating him was part of her assignment?_

_I'm going to need a warped mind to figure this case out. Thank heavens I already have one._

She finished chopping celery. Putting it in a bowl with a plastic wrap cover and sliding that into the large fridge, she said, "I'd like to give the lab a good look over, so I can get a good start in it tomorrow. Do you think anyone would object to that? It's almost 8 o'clock."

"I'm sure it would be fine," said the taller Nell. "Dr. Johansson often works late."

"Well," said Klara briskly, washing her hands, "I will see you in the morning, then."

She strode out into the hall, wondering, as she went, _Where are they holding McGee? _That she had seen him earlier in the lab meant nothing; they needed to know where he'd likely be when rescue time came. This was a tall house: three stories, and what looked like an attic above that. She'd noticed that some of the Nells had changed clothes for dinner, and figured that some of them might actually live here, probably on the third floor. _And they may have McGee in the attic,_ she thought with a grimace. _I can alert Tony tonight and we can plan a rescue attempt…but we have to know where McGee is._

Without realizing it, Klara had stopped at the foot of the stairs. She was on the ground level floor; this is where the kitchen and large dining hall were. Before she could start up the stairs to the lab, she was startled by a Nell coming up from the lower level—Klara hadn't even paid attention to the stairs that lead to a basement level. "Nell, dear, will you take this tray back to the kitchen?" said the ascending Nell to another Nell passing by. "I took dinner down to Agent McGee, but he said he'd already eaten. Though he did take the slice of pumpkin pie from the tray."

"Of course, Nell," said the younger of the two, who looked barely 18, and was probably used to being pushed around by the others.

Feeling almost dizzy with excitement, Klara squeezed her hands tightly for a minute and held in the delighted shriek that wanted to get out. _McGee was in the basement!_ She almost went down there herself, but training took over. _Always have someone at your six._ She'd get Tony in here somehow, and then—

"Going somewhere, Ms. Carlton?"

She'd done undercover work many times before, and didn't even blink at being called by the false name she'd given the blue-haired Nell. "Oh, Dr. Johansson! Just home. Time to cuddle my cats."

His look was reserved, rather than the somewhat friendly look of the Nells. "That's out of the question. Weren't you told that all staff are required to live on site?"

_Drat. _"I'm sure that never came up in conversation."

"Let me show you your accommodations, then. This way…" He guided her up the stairs, an arm firmly at her back.

Several choice swear words came to mind, but Klara kept them to herself_._ _I came here to rescue McGee. Now who's going to rescue me?_


	18. Escape from the Nell House

**Chapter 18 – Escape from the Nell House**

Klara was given a little room on the attic level—the curse of being the new girl, she assumed. She hadn't even been given time to say she hadn't brought a change of clothes with her, but a poke in the closet revealed pants, shirts and skirts that fit her. The colors were moderate to drab; not particularly to her taste. Then she looked down at what she was wearing: a plain olive green dress. _Community apparel, it must be. And they think they've pegged me._

She pushed aside the little seed of fear that clung to the side of her throat. _This is only temporary. Within 24 hours, I'm grabbing McGee and we're getting out of here. Somehow._

The room had a single bed, overhead lamp, dresser, mirror, alarm clock, chair and nightstand. _If I could get McGee up here, I could hide him in the closet. It wouldn't be comfortable for him, but he could live with it._ She remembered he'd broken a few ribs just four days ago, and shuddered. _Well, he wasn't the first agent caught in a tough spot while injured. He's got a strong mind. He'll be fine._ She dismissed any further thoughts of this before they could turn to doubts. A peek out the window showed no easy access to the roof, and a long drop to the ground.

Setting her watch alarm—for the room's alarm clock seemed to be permanently wired for 6:30 a.m.—she snuggled down for three hours of sleep. That would take her past midnight, and all the good ladies of this establishment would probably be fast asleep. Surely no one would be suspecting her of anything yet.

The house did indeed seem quiet when she woke. Carrying her shoes under one arm, she tiptoed out into the dark hallways, guided by her pen light. Down the stairs…third floor landing, second floor landing, first…_aha! Next stop, basement!_

"Looking for something, Nell?"

Klara started at the voice. It belonged to a smiling young blonde in a nightgown and robe, who carried a larger flashlight.

"My name's Klara. I was just looking for, uh—"

Again that polished smile. "We're all Nell here. The Doctor prefers that, Nell. Were you hungry? I can get you a snack."

"No thanks; I can get it myself. I don't want to keep you up."

"All right, then. Sleep well, Nell."

"You too, Nell."

To Klara's surprise, Nell wandered upstairs without even a backwards glance. She hadn't even remarked on Klara not wearing shoes or slippers. Klara listened for a count of 90 but could hear nothing other than the house's occasional creaks. A cautious smile lit her face.

Down the stairs Klara went, ever, ever so quietly. There should be guards on the door of wherever Tim was being kept. _If I had someone captive, that's what I'd do, anyway._ There were few unbreakable cells in the world, and practiced criminals could be very inventive about escaping. The hallway was dimly lit and she walked down it. Not a guard in sight anywhere. She found the furnace room and a couple storage rooms; no locks on the doors. There was one door at the end of the hallway left…

…and it was locked. She quickly picked the lock and went into the lightless room. "McGee?" she called softly, a split second before she was tackled and forced to the floor.

Fighting her attacker, she thrust her penlight fully in his face. "Geddoff me, McGee. It's Schultz," she hissed.

His eyes went wide, and he put a finger to his lips, making sure she saw that, and then ran on bare feet to the door, which he closed soundlessly (but not before jamming it with something so it didn't lock). Then to her surprise, he turned on a large fan on a stand.

She understood immediately. "Congratulations," she said under the fan. "This is your day to be rescued, Agent McGee."

"There's not much point in that," he said with a sad smile. "I'm a dead man. Johansson says I'll be in full-blown psychosis mode within 24 hours."

"And you believe that nutcase? Tim, use your brain. Doesn't that sound like something he _wants_ you to think??"

"Uh…"

"We'll get you out, get you to a real doctor, and you'll be back to being harassed by Tony before you know it! Come on."

He hesitated. "You said 'we'. Who else is with you?"

"Well…"

"You came to get me, you found me all by yourself?" He actually laughed, sounding pleased. "So Enrique got through to NCIS! I knew he would! And that Nell who got him out—Marthe Lindholm is her real name—she's a great gal. I'll bet she would have come back for me if she could have."

That thought made Klara shake. "Tim, nothing is as it seems in this nuthouse. Enrique is in the hospital. I don't know his condition; he was in surgery when I left. Marthe Lindholm shot him."

"What??"

"I don't know why. Tony and I were looking for you. We saw it happen, not far from here. Oh, and I don't work for NCIS anymore. I had a little disagreement with Jenny, um, and I quit. But I wasn't about to give up looking for you and Alvarez just because I no longer had a job."

Tim felt dizzy. "So where's Tony, then?"

"Back at work, I guess. He'd faked sickness to take a day off to look for you. We met up by chance. Buddy, I know what you're thinking, and unfortunately, it's not going to happen. Jenny's on a rampage, and foolishly her mind is all on Alvarez, and not on her missing agent. So it's just you and me. But we're getting out of it."

"How?" Tim asked bitterly. "I don't even know where we _are!"_

"But I do, hun. I'm familiar with this area. You are, too, even more than me."

"What do you mean?"

"Your Doctor Johansson chose a nice, unincorporated area in which to site his lab. Welcome to Silver Spring."

- - - - -

The agents on surveillance slept in shifts. They had their warrant, but were loathe to use it just yet for fear of harm coming to Tim and Klara. "They must get deliveries," said Gibbs. "In the morning we'll call as delivery personnel."

Tony nodded, but still felt uncomfortable. "That doesn't guarantee their safety, boss," he pointed out.

"I know it…but I can't see the situation getting any better in the near future, do you? It's a chance we'll have to take."

- - - - -

Tim swallowed, then laughed a little. "Silver Spring! I'm close to home?!"

"About half a mile from your apartment, I think. Do you know Greco Lane?"

"Yeah! Is that where we are? I've been down it hundreds of times. It's the shortest route to that great pizza place—"

" 'Uncle Tong's House of Pizza'. Yes, I remember it. I used to live in Silver Spring. Well? Are you ready to go? Want to kiss old Johansson-of-a-gun goodbye?"

"I'll pass on that. But I can't go, Klara. I have to stay here and shut this op down."

She gave him a look, folding her hands. "Tim. Someday, you will be a team leader. A very fine, compassionate one. But that's only if you live long enough! Now, pretend I just gave you a Gibbs slap. We're getting out of here, and NCIS will come back with reinforcements who can shut this hell hole, or Nell hole, down!"

He twisted his lips. "You're not my boss, Klara. And you don't even work for NCIS anymore."

"No, but I _am_ old enough to be your mother." She kissed the top of his head. "I had a son, Tim. I don't talk about him much. Gibbs and Jenny know about him, but he—his death predates your teammates. His name was Tad, for Thaddeus. He died on a Navy mission in the Gulf. If he had lived, he'd be your age now."

"I—I'm sorry."

"It's okay. He's been gone seven years now. Broke our hearts, Hans and I. Tad was our only child. Hans died six months later." They were both silent for a moment, and then she rubbed her hands briskly. "You have no guards on your door, did you know that?"

"No. That must be a nighttime thing. There are always guards when I'm let out."

"They must think that nothing happens at night. They haven't wondered about Alvarez? You said Lindholm helped him escape?"

Tim told her of the grocery shopping ruse. Klara frowned. "I assume NCIS has interviewed her—Tony and I captured her after the shooting—though I have no idea of the results of that. No one asked you about Alvarez since then?"

"Johansson did. I told him Enrique was in the can with a case of, well, whatever."

"Good thinking. So they may be wondering about him after awhile—unless Johansson knows that Lindholm was preparing to execute him. Did you get the feeling that Lindholm and Johansson were working together?"

"No; I just thought she was one of the regular Nells. I'd started thinking of her as 'Baking Nell'. She was always bringing me brownies and other treats."

Klara studied him. "Hmm," she only said. "Well, get your shoes, and let's go."

"You're not leaving us, dear?" "At this time of night?" "Do you have a warm jacket, dear? You'll catch your death!"

"I'll be fine," he said to the Marthes clustered around him. "But I must go. You take care of yourselves."

"Who are you talking to?" said Klara, with a trace of worry.

"I'll tell you later." Carrying his shoes, he led her out the door and up the stairs. The house was still quiet and dark. This was too easy, but Fate sometimes presented opportunities like this.

Tim opened the front door, and before it was inches open, an alarm went off. "Run for it!!" Klara hissed. They did, without stopping to put shoes on.

"To the back of the house!" Tim hissed in return. "They won't think to look for us there, and I remember all these houses have hedges in the back. We can hide in the shadows before continuing on!"

Their feet made almost no sound on the grass. Straight back, in the dim light of night, into the great shadows cast by trees and bushes, until they crashed into something that yielded with a "umpf!"

"Glad to see you, too, Klara," wheezed Mickey. "Now will you please get off me so I can call in the troops?"

"You're all here? You're all here?"

"Yep, but let's not stay here. They could still spot us." Mickey led them through the hole in the hedge that he'd found.

"Safe," Tim grinned hugely. Then they all jumped as rifle shots cracked the air. Klara fell down, and didn't get up.


	19. Planning an Invasion

Chapter** Nineteen: Planning an Invasion**

"Dang it, Schultz; you always have to be the center of attention, don't you?" Gibbs grumbled softly, leaning over her.

Joe knelt beside his wounded team leader (or former team leader), and had a firm hand on her shoulder wound to stem the bleeding. The others looked concerned. "Don't answer him, Klara," he advised. "Resist."

"Wasn't…intending…to answer," Klara wheezed. "Never…do."

Gibbs grinned, making sure she could see him doing so. "You okay, McGee?" he asked then. Tim, at least, was upright and looked reasonably good, but in the dim light it was hard to tell.

"I'm fine, boss," Tim said, his eyes still on Klara. "I'm just glad to get out of there. If it wasn't for Klara…"

"Well, I want to hear the whole story soon. But not now. Here comes the ambulance for Schultz, and we're going to drive you to the hospital to get you checked out, too."

"I'm fine, boss," Tim insisted, without meeting Gibbs' eyes. "Really. Please believe me."

"Tim, you broke a couple of ribs just days ago. You've been away from medical treatment since then. You should really—"

"But there's a weapon in that house, boss. A really, really nasty one. We have to take them down before they set it off!" He was almost in tears as he said it.

Gibbs eyed him, and considered. "When are they going to set it off? Right away?"

"I—I don't know." Tim blushed.

"Then let's not assume it's immediate. It can wait a few hours while you get a check-up and tell us everything you know about it. Then we can come back for it."

- - - - -

In the house, Nels Johansson prowled in front of the large second floor lab windows, looking out at the dark landscape. The room lights were off for better viewing. He was disturbed by the escape of McGee, Alvarez and the newest Nell recruit…had she been a plant, or had they forced her into helping them escape? The latter seemed to be more likely. Nell in Bookkeeping was a good judge of character; she would not have hired someone unlikely to work out.

Would anyone believe McGee and Alvarez' stories about the house? Probably not. Once found to be psychotic, they'd be locked up for their own protection for the rest of their days. The new Nell…he couldn't recall her real name…couldn't have been here long enough to learn anything. The operation was safe.



Still…it was best to finish up as quickly as possible, and prepare to decamp. There were many other suitable properties in the Mid-Atlantic states where Washington was still a target in reasonable distance. That was all that was important.

- - - - -

Gibbs got Tim to tell them the whole long, improbable story at the hospital while Klara's wound was being seen to and Tim was waiting to be checked over. A call to NCIS had at least brought the good news that Alvarez was out of danger. "Did you bring the schematics for the weapon with you?" asked Balere.

Tim looked embarrassed. "No, I didn't think to grab them. Klara and I left in a big hurry. Sorry."

"That's okay, Probie. It's more important that you got out."

"I don't know about that, Tony. If my health starts falling apart today, as Johansson said it would, then time is running really short for me to be of any use."

A doctor arrived then to brief them on Schultz' condition. The bullet had been removed from her shoulder without consequences; she was doing well but would be in the hospital for up to a week. Because of her role in helping Tim get out, Gibbs ordered guards for her room. Joe and Balere, who'd gotten a little sleep before the great escape, volunteered for the first shift. Tony and Mickey gladly stretched out across a couple chairs in the hospital waiting room while Ziva and Gibbs stayed awake with Tim.

A long silence deepened. It was now after 3 AM, approaching 4. Gibbs had called Jenny a few times, updating her on the situation.

"When are you going into the house?" Jenny asked. "I'll have additional manpower for you there then. Just tell me when you want them."

"Let's say 8 AM. That's the earliest time they could reasonably expect a delivery."

Finally Tim, the least-suffering patient in the ER, got in to see a doctor. At some point he'd taken the tape off his chest; he couldn't remember when. The doctor _hmmm'd_ over that, and ordered a new set of x-rays. Those turned out to be remarkable in that the fractures showed up as mostly healed. That should be nearly impossible for breaks only six days old, but the evidence was there. The doctor couldn't explain it. Otherwise, Tim appeared to be in good health.

Gibbs sighed and scratched his head. "Nonetheless, you're laying low, McGee. You can stay in the van while we storm the house."

"But—" Tim was clearly frightened, or anxious, and he cowered under Gibbs' stare.

Ziva knelt beside him. "You want to be in on the action, do you not, McGee?" He nodded, fighting tears. "And you are the only one among us who knows the layout of the house," she added. "Gibbs, I think he has to be there. He appears fit enough."



"Crap. All right, McGee; but you need to put on a bulletproof vest. Same as the rest of us. Let's go get some rest. It's already been too long a night."

- - - - -

Klara opened her eyes and willed them to focus. They had minds of their own, of course, and focused when they felt like doing so. They blinked against the sunlight coming in the window. It registered in her mind that a hunk of red hair was sitting next to her hospital bed. "Ohhhhh, crap," said Klara.

"Good morning to you, too," said Jenny.

"You came here to punch my lights out? I guess that's fair enough. Take your best swing, Jenny. If you're man enough to do it."

Jenny's lips quirked. "Thank you. I think I'll take a rain check until you're better, though."

Klara closed her eyes. "What is it you want, Jenny?"

"A couple of things," Jenny said briskly. "First, to thank you for rescuing McGee. That was very well done, Klara. And I won't say you didn't have to do that, because I know you, and know that you'd say there was no other choice."

"Oh, to hell with that. He's a friend. All the agents are my friends, whether I get on well with them or not. I take care of my friends. That's all."

"I like to think I take care of mine, too. Sometimes I make mistakes, though."

"Are you going to make a speech?"

"I'll try not to. I'm glad you're not worse off than you are. You've probably got at least four weeks off coming; with the physical therapy, it might be six or more. What will you do with all that nice time?"

"I _resigned_, Jenny. Or have you forgotten?"

"You left me no written resignation. And if you said anything, well, I was unconscious for a short time and didn't hear it. In my mind, you're still one of my supervisory special agents. Stop by my office at you earliest convenience and pick up your badge and gun."

Klara squinted at her. "Are you serious?? _I socked you!_ If I come back, what ramifications will I face because of that?"

"None." Jenny looked at her directly.

"None??"

"I think I deserved the punch. My…priorities were askew. Will you come back, Klara? There's probably only so many weeks that Gibbs can handle both teams before he freaks out and runs back to Mexico."



They both laughed. "Ah, nuts. I'm officially 'back' and yet I can't finish off the op that McGee and I were in on," Klara lamented.

"You can, from a distance. Tell me all that you know about the house, and I'll pass it on to Gibbs. It's not quite half past 7 now; they're going to raid the place at 8."

- - - - -

A half dozen additional NCIS agents gathered with Gibbs' group in the early morning light. The sun was barely up, and all was gray. Taking advantage of the dawn, Gibbs directed people to hiding places near the front door. Two agents had the street cordoned off at either end of the block to prevent any real deliveries from interfering with their plans.

Gibbs, Tony and Ziva would be the leading force at the front door; glib Tony posing as the delivery man (and wearing a nondescript outfit for that). Joe, Balere and Mickey would watch the back door and prevent escapes. The other four agents would swoop in the front with Gibbs' group when the door opened. Tim would be there, too. Right now he was conferring with Gibbs in the van while Tony scurried off to borrow the white van of one of the other agents. He would use that as his "delivery vehicle."

A raised hand stopped Tim in mid-sentence as Gibbs' phone rang. Tim looked a little put out, and Ziva gave him a smile and a wink to cheer him up as Gibbs put it on speaker setting.

"Yeah, Abbs; what'cha got?"

"Gibbs, you know when I talked to you last night I said I just wasn't sure about the blood found in Lindholm's car?"

"I remember. But Abby—"

"Hear me out, Gibbs. This isn't easy to say. I'll admit now, I had the answer last night, but I didn't like it so I thought I'd wait until this morning and go over everything again. And now I have. I've retested it, and compared it to DNA here. And Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs; I can't bear to say it, hardly, but that blood is Tim's. No doubt about it. And there's a lot of it."

"Abby—"

"Oh, Gibbs; what did she do to him?? I'm so scared, Gibbs…"

"Abby! Tim is fine! Klara Schultz got him out of the house in Silver Spring where he was being held prisoner overnight. I have him right here with me."

"He's fine?"

"Near perfect health. We had him checked out at the hospital."

Gibbs could hear her sharp intake of breath. "Gibbs, that was a huge blood loss, and just within the last 24 hours. And it's definitely Tim's. It matches the DNA traces I found on his coffee mug and hairs on 

the comb he keeps in his desk. I don't know _who_ you have there with you, but that can't be our Tim McGee."

Gibbs' and Ziva's eyes swiveled toward Tim.

"_No!!" _he shrieked, feeling the paranoia returning full force. "I don't know what she's talking about, boss! I'm me! McGee!"

"Are you?" Gibbs asked sternly.

"Who else would I be?" Tim said, and the tears came in a flow. _This is it. My psychosis has arrived. Maybe none of this is happening…_

"Abbs, I'll call you back," Gibbs said, hanging up, and placing a new call. "Jen? We have a big problem…"


	20. Schrödinger’s Cat

**Chapter 20: Schrödinger's Cat**

- - - - -

"I think perhaps Gibbs has had too little sleep," Ziva murmured to Tony, "if he believes that that is not McGee."

"It's hard to tell with Gibbs sometimes what he is thinking," Tony replied. "But Abby isn't wrong. Not with something like this. And not something concerning our Probie. She'd say she'd checked the findings four times. In reality, she must have checked them ten times."

"But how can he be McGee, and yet not be McGee?"

"You'll need a philosophy major to answer that one. It took me I-don't-know-how-long to understand the thing about Schrödinger's cat."

"Ah, yes. Quantum indeterminacy. The cat is both dead and alive…" Ziva looked thoughtful, but her attention was then diverted by Gibbs telling people to get into position. Tony jumped out of the NCIS truck and then went to retrieve the "delivery van" from the next block.

- - - - -

Nels Johansson took his typical breakfast of coffee, toast, and half a grapefruit in his study, as always. He rarely ate with the Nells, finding their excessive girly chatter to grate on his nerves most of the time. It was hard being the only male in the household, but this was how he had planned it, and how things had gone.

After setting the breakfast tray in the hall outside his study for one of the housekeeping Nells to take away, he finished tucking in his shirt, put on a lab coat, and prepared for another work day…this one moving closer than ever to his goal of destruction.

_Odd that Marthe hasn't been around…I don't think I've seen her since yesterday afternoon._ Lindholm didn't always eat with the Nells, either, he knew. She had too much of a brain to waste it on small talk, like the TV reality shows the others doted on. _She never has been like the other Nells…even though she willingly took on the name…_

_Am I going to have to use one of them to trigger the weapon? Is that even possible? She would know. Where is she?_

He stopped the petite Nell who was picking up his tray. "Nell, when you see, uh, the black-haired Nell…the one about 174 cm tall…?"

"Yes, Doctor? I know who you mean. Nell."

"Tell her I'd like to see her."

"Yes, Doctor." She turned efficiently and left.

There was no one in this second-floor hallway now. Johansson strode to one end of it and, pulling out his large key ring, opened a locked door. He gazed, expressionless, at the items before him. _Perhaps I can do this even without Marthe's help. Yes,_ _success is within my reach._

- - - - -

Jenny sighed as her driver fought rush-hour traffic. This was one reason why she liked to get to work early and stay late, most nights. She called Cynthia. "Anything going on that I should know about?"

"Well, Abby's in a tizzy, Director," he secretary said. "She's already been up here twice to see if you've arrived yet."

"What's on her mind?"

"Something about Agent McGee. I can't always follow her when she's so worked up. She kept saying _it's not him, it's not him, there's too much blood._ I had to call Dr. Mallard to come fetch her. I think he may have given her a sedative or something. She was in such a state, Director! I was really frightened for her."

"How long ago was this?"

"About 15 minutes ago; the last visit, that is."

"Hmm. Well, it's probably too soon to know anything. I'll check with Ducky when I get in. Anything else? Have you heard from Agent Gibbs?"

"No, Director. Has he called you?"

"Not for awhile. He must be starting his op; it's just coming on 8. I'll wait for his call."

She switched off her phone and sighed as yet again another red traffic light stalled them.

- - - - -

The delivery man in the brown jacket and brown pants stood on the doorstep and rang the door bell. The bell had an old-fashioned, musical sound; a song he couldn't identify. He didn't have long to consider it, though, for the heavy door flew open. With a friendly smile, he gazed down at the short, plump woman who stood there. "Got a delivery for you. Sign?"

He thrust under her nose a clipboard with a mostly-blank sheet of paper on it. The large clip at the top cut off nearly everything useful about his company. "Just sign anywhere. We ran out of the NCR forms; can you believe it? So I'm stuck with using scratch paper today. I hope we soon get those electronic scanners/signers like the big delivery boys use."

The woman shrugged and signed a scrawl, and then held out her hand for the small package.

"Thanks," said Tony, smiling again and squinting at the scrawl. "What's your name?"

"Nell."

_Yep, this is the right place,_ Tony thought, but only said, "Thanks, Nell. You have yourself a fine day." He even winked at her, which made her giggle.

She started to pull the door shut, but he pulled it away from her, and that's when the other agents, flattened against the house outer walls, swarmed in, guns drawn. Even Tim was armed, with Gibbs' back-up sig.

"Freeze! Federal agents!" Tony cried. Nell fell back against the wall in shock; her mouth moving, but unable to utter sound.

The house suddenly came alive with women: women mostly in dresses, but some in pants: women of ages about 18 to 60, tall women, short women, thin women, heavy-set women. Nearly all looked grim, and bore a gun, a large knife, or some other type of weapon.

_The spear is a nice touch,_ Tony thought, his eyes swiveling to take in the scene. _So is the crossbow._

"Drop your weapons!" Gibbs ordered, while one of the agents handcuffed the shaking Nell-who-had-opened-the-door. The other women made no move to do so.

"This seems to be a cult," Ziva remarked. "Where is your leader?"

"Are you perhaps looking for me? I'm sorry; I was preoccupied in my lab." The tall blond man in a lab coat ventured part way down the stairs.

Gibbs frowned. "I suspected this. Doctor Ekerot. Stop where you are, and put your hands up. Oh, and tell your…staff, if you have influence over them, to drop their weapons."

"You are intruders in my house without cause," Ekerot sniffed. "Have you a warrant to support this invasion?"

"Yep. Let us handcuff you without an argument, and I'll hold it under your nose so you can read it."

Johansson/Ekerot laughed. "My ladies are well-trained in weaponry. You are far outnumbered, and haven't a chance. I suggest you go now, and don't return."

Tony leaned over to Ziva's ear. "I would have thought that a guy with a beer gut like his wouldn't have a chance with the chicks, but he's got himself a regular harem. I almost feel like saying, _Right on, Dude_!"

"Tony," Ziva scolded lightly, her attention from the scene momentarily diverted.

In that moment Tim took a step forward. "You're forgetting I know all about your plans, Johansson. I've already told a lot of what I know to NCIS. I'll tell them the rest. You could be seeing the FBI, the CIA, and lots of other folks on your lawn pretty quickly. Give up now."

"You _don't_ know, Agent McGee," Johansson said, shaking his head. "You may know a little. You don't have the, ah, big picture."

"I think I do," Tim said. "You're building a weapon of mass destruction. One based on electrical, rather than chemical components. It's pretty impressive in design. By itself it's inert. But with a human operator—a special human operator—it can be set off. I'm guessing its waves can knock down buildings and also fry people's insides. But like I say, you need a special operator for the trigger."

He took a step forward, ignoring Gibbs' bark of _"McGee!"_ The Nell closest to him knocked his sig out of his hand, to his surprise. The agents exclaimed and would have started forward, but the menacing look of the sea of armed Nells kept them back.

"You need _me_," Tim continued. "It was always either me or Commander Alvarez, wasn't it? After Lt. Peskarev died, and we two became infected, you saw your golden opportunity. Peskarev didn't work out, but you would make sure that Alvarez and I did." He'd seen the next nearest Nell look away, and in a sudden move, he seized the knife she held. She looked mortified.

"Well, I tell you what, Johansson," Tim said, glancing at his teammates out of the corner of his eye. "Alvarez escaped. So did I, and I came back to stop you."

"You can't stop me," Johansson laughed. "You are my prisoner once again. You don't have any choice, Agent McGee."

"Yes, I do," Tim insisted. "I'm not about to let you wreck havoc if I can prevent it. I may be the only one who can stop you. You need me as an operator? Well, that only works if I'm able to operate the device." He suddenly, with only the tiniest, fleeting look of regret, rammed the knife deep into his chest and fell over with a gasp.

"_McGee! Oh God Oh God Oh God,"_ Tony heard himself saying as he leapt to the side of his teammate and friend, while sensibility told him it was too late. He ignored the mayhem around him as enraged agents upped the action and took down most of the Nells and even Ekerot, with not much bloodshed. All he could see were those vacant green eyes and the wide, wide puddle of blood staining the nice Persian rug. There was no pulse, no respiration.

"_Oh, Probie…"_


	21. Invasion

**Chapter 21: Invasion**

- - - - -

Ducky stood in the house foyer, gazing down at the body. Misery permeated his face. To Gibbs, he looked like he'd aged five years in just minutes. _Not too surprising; I feel like I've aged ten._

"No need to do the usual onsite work," Ducky said in a barely-controlled voice. "Mr. Palmer—never mind, I think I'll do this myself." There were so few things Ducky could do for the dead, usually just establishing the cause of their demise. But attending to them with highest respect was one thing he could do. With only the slightest help in lifting from Jimmy, Ducky placed the body in a bag. He zipped the bag up, and stopped when the zipper reached Tim's neck. Zipping it the rest of the way would mean that it really had happened; that Tim was indeed dead. It was such a final action. It could not be undone.

But then he did zip it up the rest of the way, because it had to be done. He heard Gibbs' breath catch; heard Tony and Ziva's soft cries as they stood, arms around each other. _Agents die,_ Ducky thought. _I know that. But it's so hard when they're young, and when I know them so well._

Gibbs stepped away when his phone rang. "Yeah, Jen," he said softly. "Have you told Abby yet?"

"_I was hoping to leave that to you, Jethro, if you don't mind. You're closer to her than I am."_

_Telling Abby about Tim is a job for a saint; not me. It's going to kill her._ "I'd do it, Jen, except I think we're going to be here for hours yet. Ekerot and some of his women escaped and are holed up in the house, and they're armed. It's going to take awhile to flush them out, find the weapon, and so on."

"_All right, Jethro. Be careful."_

He shut his phone, his eyes misty.

"Jethro, we're ready to go," Ducky said heavily as Jimmy wheeled the gurney out the door. "See you back at NCIS."

Gibbs nodded, and turned to Ziva and Tony. "We've got work to do," he said, his voice a little gruffer than he would have liked. "I know it's hard, but it's got to be done."

Right now, the agents controlled the foyer. They had no idea where Ekerot and the women were in the house. Klara's team reported that no one had left the house by the back door. Gibbs called Joe and Balere to join the invasion team, leaving Mickey again in the back yard alone.

Jenny had relayed to him the little information Klara had given her before wearing out and falling asleep. Attic and third floor—sleeping rooms. Second floor—lab, some offices. First floor—dining area, kitchen, more offices. Basement—furnace and such, and the apartment in which she'd found Tim. She didn't know where Ekerot/Johansson's sleeping quarters were.

Klara had not been able to say how many people were in the house before dropping off, although she'd had mentioned that each and every one of them went by the name 'Nell'. Gibbs' estimate was that about 30 women—30 Nells—had come to the house's defense. There was no telling if there were more behind the scenes. They'd have to assume so.

He looked at his group. Glad now that he'd insisted HQ send up more agents to take away the five female prisoners they'd managed to keep, a three-floor-plus-attic-plus-basement house was still a formidable task for the ten agents and himself. He quickly paired his people off, hesitating only a second before making Tony and Ziva a pair. They seemed to be in sufficient control to do their work. Barely, but it would do. Nonetheless, he made himself the third member of their group.

Assignments were made swiftly, without regard to talents. Although he didn't admit it out loud, Gibbs selected the second floor for his team. He could see that Tony and Ziva were pleased with the decision. "I don't claim to have McGee's brains," said Tony, "but sometimes I can think like him, if I concentrate. Weird, huh? I might be able to sniff out where that weapon is."

Ziva shook her head. "Even McGee did not know where the weapon was. He implied he never saw it."

"I still think we have enough to go on, from what he said about it, so that we'll know it when we see it."

Gibbs stopped. He never expected true revelations from Tony, but of course the agent was bright. His mind had just been misapplied in his formative years. Every once in a while Tony showed brilliant insights. "Go on," Gibbs said.

"Well, boss, consider what McGee told us, and what he said back to Ekerot. It's a weapon needing a human operator. It has to be smuggled into somewhere, so it can't be too big or too heavy to be carried by one person. It's small enough to fit in a carry-on bag so as to go through X-ray machines at security checkpoints. It wouldn't need a stand or a cart in and of itself; that might raise suspicion. I don't want to _think_ of how it connects to the human operator—_yeuch_!"

"Yeah. Good work, DiNozzo. Let's go see what's on floor 2." Gibbs didn't need to tell them his certainty that they'd find the lab guarded.

A team of two agents, assigned to the first floor, had sprinted ahead. Gibbs heard shouts, and an agent swiftly phoned him. "Got three of the ladies; they were hiding in a bedroom. Unarmed."

"Secure them and leave them," Gibbs directed. "You still have the rest of the floor to search. Don't get over-confident."

He and his team were climbing the stairs to the second floor, having let the other teams go to the upper floors ahead of them. Ekerot and his people _had_ to know that NCIS was still in the house. Was Ekerot really hoping to overwhelm NCIS by their numbers? Or would NCIS be facing booby traps? Neither thought was pleasant. _I've already lost one agent today…_

That was the third time Gibbs had started that mental sentence, only to leave it dangling. As before, he diverted his mind, still finding the truth too painful to be faced just yet._ All because Alvarez asked for McGee to come fix his computer, and Jenny said yes to his request. If she'd said 'no' and let him do his job as a special agent, he'd still be alive._

_Damn Jenny._ He had an inkling that his blame was a little unfair, but until Ekerot was in custody, he was only a boogeyman. And who could catch something they couldn't see?

_Where else could Ekerot be but in his lab, guarding his precious weapon? If we rush the lab, will he use it on us?_

Ziva seemed to read his thoughts. "McGee seemed to say that it required a certain human to activate the device," she whispered. "One who had that strange circuitry infection. So unless there is someone else in the house who we don't know about who is also infected, he cannot set it off."

"Too many variables," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "There may well be other infected people here. Or maybe McGee was wrong about it needing that…that type of human."

"Ekerot seemed determined to have McGee back," she answered.

"Yeah, he did, at that."

Rather than split up his team to cover the second floor, Gibbs kept them together. Most of the rooms on this end of the floor seemed dull and uninteresting; offices, likely. The lab was probably at the other end: no matter; they'd get to it in minutes. They could comb the place for details later. Right now, though, all they were after were Ekerot, the Nells, and the device.

At the very end of the hall was a locked door. Ziva quickly picked it open, and the light switch was where one would expect it to be. They weren't ready for what the room held. Tony swore, and tore his face away before he could be sick. Gibbs and Ziva both turned green as well, but continued to stare.

Along the back of this…different sort of a lab, ten or more bodies hung on hooks. Women, every one of them. All ages, all sizes, all hair colors. "That bastard!" Ziva cried, and reached out to touch one. Despite her shock and revulsion, she noticed no trace of injury on the body (which, like the others, was fully-clothed). It was as if the woman had simply…stopped existing. The body was well-preserved, the skin cool to the touch but still soft and giving, unlikely though that seemed.

Tony forced himself back to the scene, and stared at the gruesome sight, considering it. _How in the world does a mass murder tie in with a terrorist device??_

Gibbs' phone rang. "Yeah. Duck. Go," he said quietly.

"_Fantastic news, Jethro!"_ Ducky crowed. _"And I mean that in more than one sense. Abby was right! Was she ever right!!"_

"What are you talking about??"

"_Why, Timothy, of course! Abby had insisted that you couldn't have Timothy with you, and she was right! You didn't! This body is_ not his!"

"Duck, it's got to be him. I _know_ him. And we were there when he died."

"_No, you were there when someone acting as Timothy McGee died. Jethro, what I have on my autopsy table has pushed the boundaries of modern science that I know of into the realm of science fiction. Perhaps this is one of these military things that go on that the public doesn't know about."_

"_What_ is, Duck?"

"_This body—it was evident from the first incisions young Palmer and I made minutes ago. It's not a human body, Jethro. It was never alive, in the sense that we know it."_

"A robot?"

"_I believe the science fiction term for it is_ android."

"That's incredible, Duck! I don't think science has advanced that far."

"_Well, our initial tests show that what would be tissue in a human is only a polymer. You have your guesses, Jethro, but I have scientific analysis on my side. I'll—"_

A loud scream was heard. _"I've got to go, Jethro,"_ Ducky said in a rush. _"That's Abby. I thought we had the Autopsy doors locked, but she's gotten in, and I imagine Jenny hadn't told her yet—"_

"Put her on the phone. I'll talk to her."

"_She's fainted. Jimmy is seeing to her. Jethro, this means the real Timothy is out there somewhere. Find him, Jethro. With that much blood loss, if he's still alive, he may not have much time left."_


	22. The Lab

**Chapter 22: The Lab**

- - - - -

Gibbs was on the phone to Jenny again. "Still haven't nailed down Ekerot yet, but there's a new urgency."

"_McGee. Yes, I've just been to see Ducky. Do you need more people?"_

"Wouldn't hurt, I suppose. It being Saturday, the traffic shouldn't be too bad so they should be here in a half hour if they leave now. Send 'em up in vans. We should be taking a number of people into custody." He ended the call. An idle thought had him consider going to the kitchen and making some coffee, but he shrugged that off.

Still, he was aware that his people were going on too little sleep, and that was not desirable for a mission like this. _Should we wait until we have reinforcements?_ His gut told him no. There was a sense of urgency…in securing the weapon, and in finding Tim, if he was still alive.

"Boss…the lab?" Tony hinted, and Gibbs nodded. The first floor duo, having finished there, came up to join them.

The group of five crept down the hall in the other direction, opening doors along the way but finding no one. One large room appeared to be Ekerot's study. Since he wasn't in it, they let it go for now.

They could almost feel the lab before they entered it. Their skin started to tingle slightly. "Are they running a current through the air?" Gibbs asked no one in particular. "Is that possible?"

Team member Julie Heinz, who had been a physics major in college, shook her head slightly. "Doubtful, Gibbs. More than likely, we're passing by some heavily charged equipment. Try not to touch anything. It's all probably grounded and harmless, but why take a chance?"

The sounds of fighting came from the floor above. Gibbs winced and hoped that his people stayed safe.

Tony and Ziva thrust open the swinging doors to the outer lab area. _"Federal agents! Freeze!"_

Three women near the door did freeze, looking mildly concerned. As the five from NCIS swarmed in, they slowly raised their hands.

"No, _you_ freeze," came a voice from behind. They'd fallen into a classic trap. Six women armed with various weapons came out from hidden niches invisible from the doorway.

- - - - -

Abby woke, feeling all kinds of muddled. A blink told her where she was: on her futon in her lab, with Bert gallantly serving as her pillow. "Huh," she said weakly, not having remembered lying down. She started to sit up.

"How are you feeling, Abigail?"

Her eyes swung toward Ducky as the memory hit her like a sledgehammer. "Ohhhh!!" Her hand went to her mouth as she turned green. Jimmy was at her side immediately with a wastebasket as she vomited.

"Abby, Abby; it's not what you think. That wasn't—"

She accepted Jimmy's offer of a damp cloth to clean up, and cool water to drink. "Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. , Tim, oh, Tim—" Her words dissolved in deep, heart-wrenching sobs; surely as great as any misery she had ever felt in her life.

"That wasn't Tim that you saw," Ducky pushed on.

"What?? It _wasn't_??"

"No, it was a clever double. An android."

She gaped, and then grabbed the doctor and hugged him tightly, crying again and saying softly, "It wasn't Tim! It wasn't Tim!"

Ducky held her at arm's length, and smiled at her. "No, dear girl, it wasn't. And we are ever so glad."

"Then—then, where _is_ Tim?"

"Gibbs and the team are looking for him now. They won't stop until they find him. You know that."

"Yes—I know. Thank you." She hugged Ducky again, and then hugged Jimmy for good measure; startling him and making Ducky smile again.

- - - - -

Jenny had Marthe Lindholm brought into Interrogation again; determined to get some answers. "You've been a busy woman, Ms. Lindholm," she said without preamble. "You've shot a Navy commander, kidnapped him and one of my agents, held both of them hostage, and seriously wounded, or worse, my agent. I don't think your visa confers on you the privilege to do any of those things."

Lindholm merely glared at her.

"Your papers claim that you are a Swedish state agent. We've checked with Sweden; they've disavowed any knowledge of you and your actions. Now either you are working very deep undercover, or you're just the liar and crook you appear to be on the surface. Which is it?" Still, Lindholm remained silent.

"I have a theory," said Jenny. "So let's try it on for size. You have been working with this Ekerot/Johansson character all along. You may even be partners with him, though I suspect your talents differ. He is the mastermind behind this super-weapon. Your role in it is different.

"You're more of a people person. Agent McGee liked and trusted you. You have a way of winning people over to your side, and then you've got them trapped. Was that how it was with Lt. Peskarev? A busy, even harried woman who felt she was over-burdened? Did you offer a sympathetic ear to her, woman to woman? And thus it was that you and Ekerot made use of her in your strange…lab trials, perhaps?"

"You can't prove that," Lindholm snapped.

"Not yet. But we will," Jenny said, unconcerned. Then her eyes grew dark. "What have you done with Agent McGee?"

Lindholm shut down again.

"We will find him, you know," Jenny said, her voice like ice water. "It'll go better on you if we find him sooner than later."

Again no answer. Jenny rose and signaled the guards to take Lindholm back to holding. She allowed herself a moment alone in the room when Lindholm was gone; tensing uncomfortably against the shakes. The woman was clearly tough. That she hadn't wavered under Jenny's threats worried Jenny—it implied that the woman felt she had nothing to lose. _That may mean McGee is already dead…_

She shook the thought from her mind. The NCIS Director could not wallow in _what ifs_. It was really all up to Jethro and his people now.

"Director?"

It was one of the guards. "Yes, Monson?"

"Ma'am, the suspect says she wants to talk with you. Should I bring her back?"

"All right." _I should let her cool her heels for awhile, but I have other work to do, and she might change her mind about talking if I make her wait._

Once back in the interrogation room, Lindholm looked calm and even prim. "I have decided to help you out a little, in exchange for leniency."

"Go on…"

"There are not many people capable of operating the device. Even fewer are capable of stopping it. You need my help. Arrange for me to be taken back to the house, and I'll secure the weapon."

"Why the change of heart?"

Lindholm looked away. "Nels and I—had something of a falling out. He was keeping secrets from me, so I started keeping things from him. I suppose I would like a little revenge."

_I must be insane to even consider this._ Jenny studied Lindholm for a long minute. _There's something back there that she really wants. Still…with her help we might solve this case sooner._ "Very well. But you will be under our control the entire time, is that understood? You mess up, or put our people in a threatening position, and I won't blink if someone stops you with maximum force."

"I understand." Lindholm nodded, but Jenny caught the cool look in her eyes and was afraid she was taking a terrible risk.

- - - - -

Lindholm, handcuffed and heavily guarded, was driven to Silver Spring as part of the convoy of NCIS vans (nearly all of the ones left in the Yard). Jenny had called the Silver Spring police department and arranged for the blocks around Ekerot's house to be cordoned off.

"_We've arrived, Director,"_ the agent leading the convoy called in. _"I haven't been able to reach Gibbs on the phone, though. It keeps going over to voice mail."_

"So do my calls," Jenny sighed. "Go in with caution."

She felt fearful as she ended the call. _Why wasn't Jethro answering?!_

- - - - -

Slowly, the five NCIS agents in the outer lab dropped their sigs. The women all moved in closer to them, and the three women who had been cowering seized the dropped guns, looking subtly triumphant.

"Into the lab now," said one of the women. "That's where you wanted to go, right?"

"Well, I don't remember that we actually voted on it," said Tony. "If you'll give us a few minutes, we could talk it over, and—"

"No! No discussion," said the woman. "You go into the lab now." Weapons still aimed, the women herded the agents through the automatic door into the lab.

It was like something out of a science fiction movie: machines that glowed, whirred, chirped, rattled; machines of all shapes and sizes; machines little and cute and machines huge and menacing. In the center of it all was Ekerot.

"Special Agent Gibbs!" Ekerot crowed. "What a pleasure it is to have you in my lab. I'm sure you will enjoy it."

"And why is that?" asked Gibbs.

"Why, because of the greatness that is contained here! I have created a weapon that, once launched, will not be able to be stopped by your side. The host/operator can run it nearly indefinitely…hundreds of years, perhaps. Once life has been obliterated from one area, it simply picks up and moves on to the next. It is the ultimate destruction machine."

"And…why do you want to do that?"

Ekerot gave him a look of faint surprise. "I don't think I have to share that with you."

"Okay, _foul_!" Tony cried suddenly. "The evil overlord _always_ has to tell the captive hero why he is bent on crime. It's in the evil overlord code!!"

Leaning into Tony's face, Ekerot said harshly, "It sounds like you watch too many films. What I choose to do is up to _me_, and me alone."

Ziva spoke up. "I do not have a big science background. Your equipment does not impress me, because I do not know what it does."

"Ah, the sorry state of education among the young today. I don't have the time or the patience to explain everything to you. How about this: You all can be my guests at my initial demonstration of the device. In Washington, this afternoon." He smiled then, unpleasantly. "It's unfortunate that none of you will live to tell others about it."


	23. Lindholm's Return

**Chapter 23: Lindholm's Return**

- - - - -

Lawrence Reed, supervisory special agent, was the leader of the new convoy that descended on the Silver Spring house. As he got out of his van just down the street from the house, a twist of his head motioned that two of his agents bring Marthe Lindholm, still handcuffed, out of the back of the van. "Where is this device?" he asked her.

"In the lab, of course," she sneered. "Did you expect me to say, 'on the coffee table in the living room'?"

"Lady, spare me the attitude. Your side has lost so you have nothing to gloat about. You help us, and legally, we _might_ be able to make things a little easier for you. You don't help us, well, I'd just as soon put you in a cage right now and let the authorities take you away."

"You are so boring, All right. The lab is on the second floor, as you Americans would say, on the south side of the house. It may well be guarded."

"Booby trapped?"

"Heavens, no. We get no visitors to speak of. The guards would be there only because your people have invaded."

Reed didn't rise to the bait, but only turned and walked a few steps away to phone Jenny. "Have you been able to reach Gibbs yet?"

"_No; nor DiNozzo, David, Heinz, or Alton. I've been able to reach the others. Gibbs' group, with Heinz and Alton, were last reported to be heading for the lab on the second floor. The other teams are holding their positions, at least until you eight get inside. You should have a clear approach to the second floor."_

"Unless whoever jumped Gibbs' group has the second floor cut off."

"_I know that's a possibility. Stay safe, Lawrence."_

"Will do."

Reed walked back to the heavily-guarded Lindholm. "All right, Ms. Lindholm. We're going in, and you'll be our guide to the second floor. Let's see what you people are hiding there."

She smirked. "Ah, but before that, we need to stop on the first floor. Something crucial to all of this is there…"

- - - - -

He stirred in his sleep; his dreadful, pain-laced sleep. His long frame was twisted on the too-short futon whose foot was cluttered with things big and heavy. There was no way of getting comfortable. The shoddy bandages itched and chafed: some tight with dried blood, others sticky and unpleasant as blood soaked through. The bandages hadn't been changed since…since whatever it was that had happened to him. What was it? He couldn't remember. Most of his memories were a little fuzzy. _Paranoia_ was a word that seemed to be in the forefront of his mind…why? He didn't _feel_ paranoid about anything.

Moving was hard, though he thought he might be able to do a bit of it if he knew where to move _to_. Faces floated in his mind: _Abby…Gibbs…his grandmother Marthe…Tony…Ziva…that nice Baking Nell…_His face screwed up as he remembered at last that Baking Nell, aka Marthe Lindholm, was _not_ nice; that she had done this to him…but he couldn't say how, when or why. _Why? What did I do wrong? Why didn't she kill me, if she wanted me dead?_

He heard a rattle of a key in a lock, and reached for the glass bottle of root beer that he'd hidden under the futon. If he could keep steady, it would be a weapon.

A light switched on, and he slammed his eyes shut, after having been in the dark for so long.

"Here he is!" he heard Baking Nell say in her pleasant, friendly voice. _Curse her!_

There were several gasps. "McGee! Can you get up? You're getting out of here!"

Tim recognized the voice as Agent Lawrence Reed's. _I have nothing to fear from him…do I?_ He tried to get up, but felt pain and dizziness. "I don't know," he replied. "Maybe not."

"Ellsworth, call an ambulance," Reed directed.

"No! Not yet!" Lindholm said vehemently. "We need him as a bargaining unit against Ekerot."

"He looks like he's just two steps from the graveyard!"

"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," Lindholm said, back in control of herself. "Help me help him to his feet."

Reed and two of his people did so, reluctantly. Tim's shirt was open, torn and bloodstained. His pants were little better. He proved to be too weak to stand without support. "What happened to you, Tim?" Reed asked. "Who did this to you?"

"She—" Tim said, and his dry throat choked. Three hands offered him bottles of water.

"First Alvarez, and now McGee. You're going to have to really try hard to redeem yourself, lady," said one of the agents.

Lindholm looked at Tim disapprovingly and said to Reed and the others, "You will have to carry him up the stairs. Alas, we don't have an elevator."

"Is it absolutely necessary that we bring him?" said Reed, suspicion arising. "What can he do?"

Without answering, Lindholm started up the stairs. Her way was quickly blocked by two agents. She looked back at Reed with a coy smile, and he sighed and signaled them to go ahead. Two more agents made a chair of their hands and arms for Tim. Guns at the ready, the party slowly went up the stairs.

At the outer office to the lab, two armed women challenged them, then relaxed upon seeing Lindholm. "The doctor is in his lab, Nell," said one. "And whatever has happened to our nice Agent McGee?"

"He had a little accident; that's all, Nell," replied Lindholm, smiling benignly.

"Oh, dear! Well, can he be fixed?"

Lindholm glared at the other woman. "You were supposed to tend to him, Nell. I left him in your care."

The other Nell looked mildly surprised. "I put bandages on him, as you instructed. Was I supposed to do something else?"

Reed cleared his throat. "Ladies, put down your weapons and step aside. We have you outnumbered." He saw Lindholm nod to the two women, who then dropped their guns. Agents handcuffed them. "We're going in," said Reed.

- - - - -

Jenny paid a visit to Alvarez at his hospital, gladly submitting to the thorough ID check by his guards, while her own waited outside the room. Alvarez was happy for the visit, if dopey with the painkillers. "Ask me anything, Jenny. Though I don't know if what I say will make much sense. It seems like a fantasy story to me!"

"Do you know why Lindholm shot you?"

"No. I thought for sure she was what she said she was…a Swedish undercover agent trying to get Tim and me out of there. Is Tim okay?"

She flipped her hands. "Yes. No. That's really complicated. But about Lindholm…?"

"She said I'd find the Metro station within walking distance, in some direction. I got mad and we had words. For some reason she seemed surprised when I said I'd be calling NCIS as soon as I got to a phone. I don't fully understand that. She said Johansson—Ekerot—whoever he is—had to be allowed to finish what he was doing so she could get the goods on him. She seemed to think I'd go along with that, and leave Tim at risk!"

"Psychopathic leanings," Jenny murmured. "They sometimes produce great undercover agents, but I wouldn't have any of them working for _me_."

He grimaced. "I've never paid much attention to psychology. People have understood people long before Freud and his friends came on the scene. I could see, then, that Lindholm was either a little driven or a lot nutso, but I couldn't get out of the line of fire fast enough."

"Anything else that might help us?"

"Not really. I just wonder, still, why we were kidnapped in the first place. Well, now that you have Lindholm in custody, I'm sure the answers will come out."

- - - - -

Two of Reed's top agents, flanking Lindholm, lead the way into the lab. Tim walked with the group, supported by another agent.

"_McGee!"_ Tony cried, and would have gone to him, had not a Nell shoved a gun in his face.

Tim smiled thinly but did not speak, and sat on a nearby bench. Gibbs looked questioningly at Lindholm, and then at Reed, who only shrugged.

"Nels," Lindholm nodded at the scientist.

"Ah, Nell. I'd wondered where you had gone. You know this is our crucial time. And why did you drag all of NCIS in here?"

"I had some difficulties. I had to get rid of the commander."

"Oh, so? And did you?" Johansson went on, as if no one else was in the room besides the two of them. He walked about the large room as he talked; totally at ease in his lab.

"Well enough. But it's McGee that we needed, and I should have known that all along. He's the one who can set off the device for us. He is younger than Alvarez, and should have sufficient staying power to see the mission through. Is the device ready?"

"I think so. Shall we go try it out?"

"Fine. Which site have you selected?"

"Oh, I can't make up my mind. You select one. The National Mall? The Lincoln Memorial? The Naval Historical Center? I like that one."

"Naval. It seems fitting. Let's go, then."

"Wait a minute!" cried Reed, wishing that Gibbs weren't a prisoner and could work this out for himself. Reed did not appreciate getting the Looney-Tune cases. "We are here to take you down! Have you forgotten us??"

"You can't stop us," Ekerot said, his eyes almost twinkling. "You only have firepower. _We_ have _technology_ on our side." He walked by Ziva, and looked down at her with a slightly lecherous smile.

She tripped him. The room went into turmoil as Ekerot fell and all of the agents rose up against the women. It reminded Tony, gleefully, of so many sci-fi 'B' movies of the 1950s. He would have to go through his DVDs tonight.

Gibbs had Ekerot in a hammerlock. "Where's the device?" he demanded. "Tell us!"

"Uh, boss…I think I have it," said Tim. He was holding a silver toy—or what looked like a toy—space ray gun, decorated with red and blue bits. It was about two feet long and looked like it might shoot water.

"McGee! Where did you get that??"

"She gave it to me. Just now," said Tim, his eyes filling with tears. "It's…it's like it's part of me, boss. I don't want to use it—I don't—but I have to. It's compelling me to. I'm sorry…"

He raised the weapon, and aimed.


	24. The Device Goes Off

**Chapter 24: The Device Goes Off**

- - - - -

In an instant, everything changed. The device did not so much "go off" as free unseen winds of hideous speeds to race about, bombarding them all with air/color/sound/texture. Tim's attempt to aim the gun away from people was pointless: the blast affected everyone, in all directions.

Time, too, seemed to be affected. It sped up, it slowed down, it fluttered in the air; so palpable and tasty that one could almost grab it and rip off parts of it, then pop it into one's mouth and chew it. That is, if one could control one's movements enough.

The device glowed yellow and orange, then green, and then in a non-repetitive cloud of colors; on and off, on and off, more complex than a binary system could ever hope to be. Tim looked dazed as the room filled with more and more color. Dazed, and a little…stretched. It was as if the device was sucking him through the event horizon of a wormhole, and his molecules, his very being, were coming undone.

"Gibbs! We must do something!" Ziva cried, only to her ears it sounded like just a long wail on the wind, no words discernable.

Despite his guards, Tony tried scrambling to his feet, but the force of the device's winds of color made it hard for him to find balance. Fortunately, the wind had the same effect on the Nell-guards. Ziva and Gibbs both tried to fight the wind, and Ziva, moving severely bent over, after a long couple of minutes, made it to Tim.

She reached for the device, her long hair whipping in 100 directions at once. Her skin felt like an army of tiny bulldozers was running over it. Ziva shouted at Tim, but the sound was masked by the high-pitched whine from the device and the shrieking winds. Tim's lips moved, unnaturally slowly. Everything around them was slowing down, even though she felt her lower legs were rapidly being pulled away from her; stretched, stretched, stretched. Her cheeks felt sucked in; her skin tight around her eyes, which were watering. At least her thinking was mostly clear. _I must get that thing away from McGee!_

It was hard, so hard to fight the forces. She peeked over her shoulder. Tony was straining to get to her, his clothing flapping in the wind as hers was, but he wasn't gaining ground. Gibbs, to her horror, looked older, grayer, and weaker. His face showed the pain: the forces were having a terrible effect on him.

Even Eskerot was affected. He was stumbling, looking shocked, and trying to get out the back door. An agent leapt for him and brought him down, Ziva noticed. She then forced herself to turn her attention back to Tim.

Blood rose off his bandages, in globules, and hung suspended in the air around him, swirling in their own little vortexes. His skin took on a pale pink-white tone, slowly fading into white. It wasn't obvious whether he was still alive or not, though the device remained in his hands. Ziva fought the winds and the catch in her throat, and edged closer and closer…_almost there…_

_Whap!_ She was knocked off her feet. Lindholm, she saw, looking up. The woman had her arm slung back, ready for a punch, although her stance did not indicate a practiced fighter. Ziva lunged and knocked Lindholm over, then scrambled for the device.

Tim held it tightly, still. He turned his head slightly…_still alive!!..._and looked at her; his lips clearly, although oh-so-slowly, forming the word _No_.

"You have to let go, McGee!" she shouted, at least in her mind. "It is feeding off you! It is killing you and you are allowing it to have power! It could kill us all!" It was no use; he couldn't hear her, and she could feel her lips moving as slowly as his.

Again he said _No._ But that wasn't all he was trying to say. His lips opened into an oval. _An 'O',_ she recognized! Then they came together, as if blowing a kiss, or making the letter 'P'…no, she was right the first time! Not about the kiss, but the blowing. The letter 'F'! He was saying, _'Off!'_ Off what? Off switch, it must be!

She placed her hands on the device, feeling its smooth surface as it sent tiny needles shooting up her arms. Nothing like a switch was apparent; to know for sure, she'd have to wrest the device from Tim. He wouldn't, or couldn't, give it up.

_Drat! There was Lindholm again._ Ziva gave her a hard kick with her boot so far, far away, and the woman went down once more.

Ziva was sweating now, sensing that dangerous levels of something were being reached. She felt weak and nauseated, but pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Once more she pushed her hands over the device. _There must be an off switch, there must be…_

Then a thought hit her. _Suppose there is not one. Suppose the device was expected to keep going until it runs out of energy from its host, and then it loses power. Then I must get it away from McGee!_

She braced a foot against the chair in which he sat, and tugged. Because of his debility, it didn't take much for her strength to break his grip. With sudden ease, the device was now in her hands alone, though it felt tremendously heavy. She thought if she dropped it, it would crash through the second and first floors and land in the basement.

But there was a marked change. The colored winds abated, and the noise level lessened. However, the device seemed to be seeking a new host as a source of its power…

Ziva's sight dimmed and then disappeared altogether. She swore her organs strained against the muscles and bones that held them in place. She was being turned inside out; everything racing straight up her neck, and out through the top of her head…

"_Ziva! Drop it! Let it go!!"_ Tony yelled over her screams. Pulling off his NCIS jacket, he wrapped it around his hands and then yanked the device away from her. He then dropped it to the ground and let it lie there, humming but covered. He also caught Ziva as she lost her balance and fell, and gently laid her down a bit away from the device.

The air returned nearly to normal; just a bit super-charged and glowing. Two agents handcuffed Ekerot, who glared at them. "You can't charge me with anything," Ekerot snarled, "Because your little minds can't comprehend what you see here."

"We'll try hard," Gibbs promised. "I'm sure some of your employees will talk."

But then something else happened. All of the Nells suddenly looked blank, and pitched forward. "What the—" Tony cried, as he and the other agents raced to them. They felt for pulses, and found none.

"You'll face a number of charges of murder, anyway," said Gibbs coldly. "Was it poisoned Kool-Aid that you gave them?"

"They're not dead, Agent Gibbs," Ekerot smiled. "They were never alive."

"Androids," Ziva breathed, as she groggily sat up. "His entire staff, all the Nells, were androids. That matches what we saw at the opposite end of the hall. He made androids on site."

"Oh, I can't take credit for all that," Ekerot said with a cold grin. "My associate, Marthe, here, actually designed and created them. You were a frustrated fashion designer, was that it, my dear?" he said to her with a trace of mockery.

Lindholm was looking a little gray. "Never mind the jokes, Nels. You know you could not have built up the workforce without me, and the Nell assistants I made for you."

"Ah, true. I am in your debt for that, my dear. And as we had planned all along, with the device now out of our hands, the Nells are no longer needed, and so they have been terminated. But there is the chicken and the egg question. Which came first? Where did the first Nell come from?"

"Why, I created her, of course. Just like I created all the others, and the McGee android, which would have been a perfect infiltrator for us, if only he didn't encompass McGee's sappy nobility…"

Ekerot shook his head. "No, my dear. Your memory is at fault because I wanted it that way. _I_ made the first Nell. I made _you_._"_

Her hands flew to her mouth. "That's not true! You're lying! I'm human; every bit as much as any of you! I have perfect memory of my entire life!" Her voice started to shake.

"You remember the false life history I programmed into you. It was amusing to do it once, but then I left the creation of the other Nells to you. You could make them any size and color, and dress them as you liked, while I did the real work. And now, my dear, your usefulness is over. You were made more durable than the others, but you can be eliminated. Goodbye, dear Marthe."

"_No! No! Please!!"_ she screamed. Ekereot merely twisted a ring on his finger, and she dropped like a dead weight. "Marthe Lindholm" was no more.

"Did I ever mention how much I dislike science fiction?" Ziva said wryly, holding one of Tim's hands.

He was breathing harshly now, and his eyes were closed. His ordeal had taken so much out of him. Gibbs held his other hand, eyes scanning his face. _Hang on, McGee. You've made it this far. Don't give up now._

An agent from another team ran in. "Ambulance is here for McGee, Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded, and motioned to people. "Take Ekerot in, and the…thing…and all the, uh, ladies."

"Murder one, Gibbs?"

"I don't think you can kill someone who was never alive. But we're in really gray territory here. Probably androids will have rights someday…but I'm glad I'll be retired by then and won't have to worry about those cases."

Tim stirred a little as he was loaded onto a gurney. Tony leaned over him with a smile. "And I'll bet you never thought this was happening so close to home, eh, Probie?"

Ziva looked thoughtful. "I wonder how much this house would go for?"

"Speculate later," said Gibbs, as he reached for his phone to call Jenny. "We still have a long, long day ahead of us."


	25. WrapUp

**Chapter Twenty-five: Wrap-up**

- - - - -

Tony, Ziva and Jenny stood in the Interrogation Observation area while Gibbs grilled Ekerot/Johansson once more. This time, Ekerot was finally confessing…a little. There was still a lot they hadn't gotten out of him, and might never learn.

"Where do you suppose he'll wind up, Director?" Tony asked. "Gitmo?"

Jenny shook her head. "I'd like to think so, but the SECNAV is sure that Sweden is going to ask for extradition, and the US will probably grant it. He has a lot to answer for in his home land, apparently."

Ziva frowned. "I know that in some cases, criminals with brilliant minds are kept close at hand, so no one else can get their services."

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Jenny. "Androids! Living circuitry! An incredible weapon…Ekerot is, no doubt, a genius. He's created items that otherwise might not exist for decades! No, he is certainly a danger." _Will they bargain with him; make use of him?_

_Will this be the last we hear of him?_ She shuddered.

"Abby said she hasn't had any luck with the Nell androids," Tony remarked.

"If Abby cannot, ah, bring them back to life, I do not know who can," said Ziva. "Perhaps McGee, working with Abby, when he is better…"

Jenny nodded. "They'll give it a try. It may take time, and it's certainly going to be low-priority. This is so far beyond anything we know! But wouldn't it be impressive if they were able to reactivate the Nells?"

Tony grinned. "Particularly Lindholm; the one Probie called 'Baking Nell'. He says she really was a great cook!"

- - - - -

Tim lay in his hospital bed, glad for a little peace and quiet, for once. Abby had just left, after coming to give him a very gentle hug. "I just had to reassure myself again that you're _you_, Tim," she'd said. "After seeing the android-you cut open on the Autopsy table…well…"

He'd lightly patted her arm. She was obviously still a little shocked by her ordeal, even three days later. That she cared so much warmed his heart. Yes, he had seemingly come back from the dead. It was worth coming back, when you knew your friends cared so very, very much.

The door creaked open. Another visitor? "Hiya, Tim! I've decided to go AWOL for awhile. Let's see if anyone misses me."

It was Alvarez, in a wheelchair, pushed by a smiling nurse. Not exactly AWOL, then, but Tim could let his friend have his fun.

"It's over, Enrique! Finally over!" Tim sighed happily.

"About time. Now my daughter really does want me to take time off and come see her. I think I'll do just that. I have too much leave accrued as it is."

"Ha! I'm never in that position."

"Stick with it, son. The more years in, the more you accrue. You'll get there…so, your Baking Nell never really existed. I still can't wrap my mind around that."

"She existed. She just wasn't alive, in the sense that we know it. No more than a computer is alive. She was his original Little Nell, Gibbs said. Named for a Dickens character."

"I'm still croggled. They all seemed alive to me. And aren't robots forbidden from harming humans? She sure put a hole in me!"

"That's only in fiction. Asimov's laws of robotics. If you can create a robot…an android…you can design it to behave in any way you want to."

Alvarez shook his head. "Damndest thing. Anyway, did they tell you the good news about you and me?"

"That the circuitry inside us has stopped growing? Yes, I heard just a little while ago. And it should have all withered and have been flushed out of our systems within a week. We'll be back to normal soon!"

"I don't pretend to understand why that would be. I'm just satisfied that it is."

"Wait, let me call Klara Schultz; see if she's up to joining our little party," said Tim, reaching for his phone. In a few minutes, Klara came in, also in a wheelchair…escorted by Gibbs and Jenny!

"I would have brought some snacks if I'd known there would be a party," Klara cracked. "How are you doing, Enrique? And Tim; I'm so sorry that Lindholm carved you up! What happened??"

So Tim told them the story he'd already told Gibbs and Jenny. In the pre-dawn hours of the day in which Lindholm helped Alvarez escape and then shot him, she had lured Tim out of the apartment, out to her car, and then attacked him, stabbing him several times, in a nearby secluded area. She needed a significant sample of his blood, with its circuitry, to speed up the activation process of the Tim android. This much she had told him. He only remembered after that lying in a small locked room in great pain. Why she hadn't just killed him, he didn't know.

"You were still a fallback plan, I'm guessing," said Klara. "She didn't care much for your well-being, but she did need you—what was in you—to power the destruction gizmo. If the first blood sample didn't prove to be enough, by keeping you alive she'd have another."

"Gah. I like reading science fiction; but I don't want to be part of it," Tim said. "Does that tie up all the loose ends, now?"

"That depends," said Gibbs. "Do you still have the paranoia?"

Tim considered. "No," he said at length. "I feel…_normal_ again. It's good."

"I'm glad of that," Gibbs smiled. "I'll be glad when all three of you are back at work."

Tim's eyes widened. "You too, Klara?"

Jenny grinned. "Yes, we're stuck with her again. Jethro will be glad to go back down to a smaller team, I'm sure."

"You got that right," Gibbs said.

"Oh, speaking of loose ends," said Alvarez. "Tim…one more thing…back on Monday you had come to Anacostia to fix my computer…?"

"Oh, no!" said Gibbs, and Jenny looked alarmed, while Klara only laughed.

"Have someone on your staff deliver the computer to NCIS, and Tim will work on it in-house, when he comes back to work," said Jenny firmly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. "I need him too much at NCIS. No more geek house calls for him. That's how this all started."

"I can live with that," said Alvarez, giving Tim a grin. "Tim, it was a pleasure sharing an adventure with you. But let's not do it again, anytime soon."

"Agreed!" said Tim, and sighed in contentment. _It's over. It's all over._

_Yes, and you're safe now, deary,_ said two of the Marthes at the other side of his bed.

- END -


End file.
